Trying
by planet p
Summary: AU; In the end, you need a reason to try... *Just pandering to my incessant need to be irritating, nothing to worry about here, folks* Emily/Lyle
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** I don't own _The Pretender_ or any of its characters.

* * *

><p>Strolling by one of the conference rooms, Parker paused at the sight of the open door and stopped to listen for a moment and caught the unhappy end of one of her brother's mope sessions, obviously directed at someone the Chairman was in mind of hiring:<p>

"No, I do not know how to live without someone manipulating me six ways to Sunday. Isn't it abhorrently bloody obvious? We're all nine point five kinds of crazy here. Why would you want any part in that, anyway? Are you seriously unhinged?"

Parker frowned. Right, it was that game again, was it? The piss the Chairman off any way I can because he doesn't deserve the chairmanship - I do! - game.

"No, not seriously," the woman returned, with a smile in her voice. "Just slightly."

Parker resisted the urge to snicker and inched closer to the open door. A woman, making fun of her brother, it was too much temptation to resist.

"I hope you've got a damn good therapist, m'dear. A word to the wise: you might have your heart set on this job right now, but I guarantee you, it is far and away more interested in _your_ heart than you could even... guess! You know, as in - ripping it out and stomping on it!"

"I'll say," she remarked, with a slight frown: "Somebody needs a therapist – snappy-like - but it _ain't_ me!"

"Of course, you don't trust me - I've just been working for this company for-!" He laughed darkly, falling short.

"I'm a big girl. Did I mention: I'm taking lessons in kick-boxing."

"You _don't_ want to work here!"

"Mmm-hmm. Yes I do." The woman smiled brightly.

Parker couldn't understand her brother's opposition, in honesty. The woman wasn't anything like his type, so she could hardly have been one of his girlfriends whom he'd been hoping to kill though she'd merely gotten together with him because she'd seen the potential for him to get her a nice little foot in the door with her future employer. She was _blonde_!

"Why?"

"Enough questions, Bobby!" the woman snapped, at last. "You are not going to talk me out of this, alright, and if you even _try_ to stab me in the back, I'll get you back!" A sinister, little smile played about her lips and she whispered: "And you know I can!"

He laughed, but it wasn't amused. "It's for him, isn't it? You're doing this for him. He's not worth it, sweetheart. His little _mission_-"

"Oh, don't you lecture me, boy! Don't you even start!" she growled. "I was around long before you were even dreamt of - taking other people's shit and making do with my lot in life! Don't you dare tell me I'm not thinking straight. The only shit my head's messed up with is my own, and _you_ - really fucking starting to piss me off now, Bobby!"

"Don't call me that. It's Lyle. Call me by my Goddamn name, alright."

"That isn't your name, and I don't particularly like it as a name, either."

"Well you can't get around calling me Bobby, merry as you please."

She crossed her arms crisply, immaculately polished fingernails glistening like fresh blood. "Right, then I think I'll call you _dipstick_!"

He laughed. "Someone could take that the wrong way, you know."

She rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lipsticked mouth. "You people, you have such dirty minds!"

He shook his head, still laughing quietly to himself. "You have no idea, m'dear. And that's one of the _gentler_ things about this place."

"It's not that bad," she groused.

"Trust me, hon, it is _that_ bad. All the way that bad! You're an optimistic kind of person, so you don't see it at first, that's all. You let yourself be taken in by its easy charms, the neat, expensive things," he waved a hand, "the cut flowers. They're dead, hon. _Dead._ This whole place _is dead_. Inside, it's dead. It doesn't have any heart left in it; it's just a machine. A deadly machine. You can kid yourself all you like: sure, not everyone around here's the same, there are the nice ones, too, but they're just the decorations the machine chooses to disguise itself, to lull you into a false sense of hope and security. They're just decoys, and entirely expendable. Do you want to stick around and watch them get used up and tossed out to the trash, one by one? They're accessories, they come and go as the fashion dictates. In the end, they're all so inconsequential. They're all outdated, replaced. And it hurts! Because that's what happens when you care, when you look for good things to negate the bad things. The good things don't hold up for very long and then, guess what, it's _you_ next, and they're turning you into one of their perfect little fucked-up cogs. The machine absorbs you and you don't get out, you _never_ get out. They don't call it Hell for nothing, love. Once it's got a good grip of you, this place, it'll go through Hell and high water to cling on. It _won't_ let go."

"It's certainly done it's number on you," the woman agreed. "But I think you underestimate me, Bobby. I'm tougher than you think. I can-" She glanced suddenly at the door, and Parker nearly winced, caught out. The woman tried to hide the horror in her eyes, but Parker caught it before she swept it under the carpet, replacing it with a slight curiosity.

Parker smiled at her, wondering what she'd been going on about before exactly. She was easily twenty years younger than Lyle, so unless she'd been Healed, she couldn't have been " taking other people's shit" long before they'd even been dreamt up, and Parker didn't get the vibe from her that she'd been Healed.

"Hi."

Parker stepped into the room properly and walked over, holding out her hand for the other woman to shake, but did not offer a _hi_ back. "Miss Parker."

"Darla," the younger woman returned sweetly. "How long were you standing there, just out of interest's sake?"

"Long enough," Parker replied. So Darla wasn't too pleased with that idea, was she? Found it a little creepy? Score one for Team Parker.

Darla's eyes lost their friendliness and she turned sharply to Lyle. "You were hiding her from me!" she accused cuttingly.

He shrugged.

"_Her_!"

The way she said it annoyed Parker, as though "her" was suddenly a disgusting word, something deplorable. As though _she_ was something deplorable.

Lyle dropped the smile. "She's my boss, Darla. What were you expecting?"

"A little loyalty!" Darla growled.

Parker stepped in between the two, only a little worried by the strength of Darla's anger. Even _she_ could feel it, and she wasn't Empathic in any way. "Excuse me," she interrupted, "sunshine, but I think what my brother means to say is: he's creepily obsessed with me and that's not something you want a slice of, frankly. Be happy it's not you he's pining after."

"B-" Darla spluttered. "You're siblings?" She looked between them disbelievingly, her eyes finally coming to rest on Parker.

"Unfortunately," Parker replied. Yes, they were siblings.

"You don't look anything alike," Darla commented. "I'd never have guessed." She frowned suddenly. "Pining after?"

"Romantically, you might say," Parker agreed, with an absurd grin.

"Gotcha," Darla replied blankly. She sighed. "I apologise if I came across as a bit of a bitch. It's nothing against you, dear. I merely assumed Bobby would have an ounce of bloody loyalty toward his own kind. I am an Empath, you see."

"Mmm."

"Allan knows this. It's why he's hiring me."

"You should probably think about leaving," Parker told her, then, to her ill expression, explained: "Blue Cove hasn't got an exactly glowing reputation for, shall we say, their successes with the Empathic spectrum."

"I've heard otherwise. I hear good things about Blue Cove. Dr. Mer-"

"Is an expert. She could work anywhere she wanted, yet she chose Blue Cove. She chose to work with a brain-addled ex-T-Corp Class Two. My, what extraordinary charity the woman has! And that doesn't strike you as strange or creepy at all?"

Darla lifted her chin, her eyes defiant. "Not at all. It strikes me as noble and just."

"Just effed-up, you mean," Parker replied. "See, Angelo's not straight in the noodle. He's not going to object to _any-thing_. Which is exactly the way they like it around here. You go poking your nose into other people's business and you're not going to like the outcome, believe me. My brother is right. You don't want to work here. You don't even want to know _here_ exists."

"Lyle," Lyle replied.

"My bro-ther!" Parker enunciated.

He shrugged, turning to glance at Darla. "You can trust her, Darla. They offed her mom, her fiance, her stepmom... heck, who even knows why Daddy decided to leap out of that plane? They were probably behind that, too. It's so their style. On a good day. When they can actually do something without messing it up worse than even _I_ could do." He smiled. "And I make it my business to be spooky bad at shit, but that's not them. They don't even _try_, they just _are_. The only thing they're good at is fucking everything up."

"You make it your _business_?" Parker spat.

"By goodness, woman, can't you even recognise a joke when you hear one? My, you're in a bad way. I was joking, of course. Thought it'd get a smile out of you, for sure. Apparently I'm not such a great Pretender." He laughed. "I'm not _even_ a Pretender!"

Darla patted him on the back sourly. "Still as amusing as ever, Bobby," she commented dryly. "Just get it out of your system. There, there. It will pass, I'm sure."

_It won't!_ Parker mouthed darkly. "How do you know my brother?" she asked seriously, with absolutely no idea why she kept saying that - my brother. It wasn't even as though she believed that lie. It was just another lie, as usual.

"We attended Summer Camp together, as children," Darla replied smoothly. "Don't be fooled, dear, I'm older than I look."

"I had gathered."

"Look good for my age, though." She smiled a little smile. She smacked Lyle's arm. He could just stop humming that Demi Lovato number, now.

Parker didn't know the song, didn't even know the title - "Every Time You Lie" - from the radio, whenever that had been when it'd been on. She didn't listen to the radio except when it was at work, and vaguely, in the background. She didn't listen to pop music unless it was with Debbie and Silvie.

"I'll bet that was exciting."

"A real joy," Lyle said.

"Bobby loved it," Darla told Parker. "_Anything_ to get out of Misery, Nobody's Business! It wasn't so bad, I guess. They fed us, even let us play games."

Lyle laughed. A strange half-amused, half-something else laugh. His eyes looked unusually shifty; he was usually so careful to maintain his good-boy image. He looked suspectly unhinged. "Darla wouldn't go out with me. It really _hurt_ me," he shared, without a hint of grandiose, a hand on his heart.

"Rather swallow poison," Darla agreed. "Nothing's changed there. High-Class Empaths don't impress me. I want someone _real_. More pointedly, with _real_ feelings. You were always such a downer. God, it struck me as so staged, it was stomach-churning. Really off-putting. Rebel without a cause, not so much as _Morbid without a cause_."

"No, that's exactly right. As I recall, you were the rebel, darl."

She grinned. "Wasn't I?"

"So much!"

They definitely knew each other, that much was clear. The nostalgia was off-putting, seeing as Parker was conveniently left out, could never be included. But there was something about Lyle's tone that was upsetting, that hinted that he _respected_ the snooty, angry woman he'd attended Summer Camp with in their younger days. He wasn't jealous she'd been so much more than him, he was... softly understanding. That confused Parker, more than anything. Since when did Lyle ever respect a woman, since when had he ever? It just wasn't him.

At all.

It wasn't a part of his stage act and it wasn't a part of hers, either. She'd been bothered by it in the past, but this was worse. This was worse because now Lyle had let slip that there was more to him and all she was was a cold bitch, the Ice Queen, and even though _she_ knew she was so much more, she couldn't let anyone else know. The last time she'd pulled a trick like that Thomas had ended up dead, someone she'd loved had died. A good person.

"Still, you make a good point," Lyle said. "Glamour or not, that's one hot bot." He made to smack her bottom playfully but she stepped back sharply, her expression caught between cautious and horrified.

"Hands to yourself, creepy boy," she snapped.

"Aw!"

"Aw!" she growled. "Touch me and I'll kick-box you into next year!"

"Ex-Sweeper, Level Five. You can try, love, but I don't think you'll get very far, truthfully. An' that ain't boastin', exac'ly." He smiled at her charmingly.

She straightened up and crossed her arms, grimacing in the direction of the door. Some Empath when he couldn't even sense the Chairman arriving at the door, some bloody Sweeper!

"If you wouldn't mind, Miss Parker," Courtland said, walking into the room.

"Of course, Allan," she replied sweetly, making for the door.

Courtland waved a hand at the door, meaning he expected Lyle to take the hint and get lost also.

"Mr. Chairman, Miss Darla."

Courtland looked pained, but nodded shortly. When Lyle pulled the door closed after them, Parker, who'd stopped in the corridor to wait for him, had a good idea that Courtland had sighed in actual _relief_. Lyle was a massive pain in the ass, even if he had his uses. He was mostly just a pain in the ass, actually.

"Mr. Chairman!" she mocked, with a teensy light laugh. Her eyes sparkled suddenly. "Sum-mer Camp?" she teased. "Never heard that one before. So, how come?"

"It has come up before, you just weren't terribly interested to take notice," he replied, strangely cold to her charms.

"You like her?" she asked, confused by that notion.

"She is a good person. Something I am not. This is not right."

Parker stared at him as though he'd temporarily taken leave of his senses. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"I am not your brother," he returned.

"Yeah, no, fuck no, but we don't get to say that, do we? The company decides we're fuckin' siblings and we've gotta play fuckin' puppy with them. Ooo, send me to my _litter box_, I've been nah-tay!"

"You could've chosen otherwise," he said quietly, and she didn't even realise she'd punched him until after she'd already done it, but even then, he hardly looked surprised, and not even a smidgeon pissed off. Her hand hurt.

"They killed my best friend!" she hissed murderously.

"Correction, Sis: _I_ killed your best friend. And if you'd have stayed, if she'd never tried to defy them, she would never have been sent away, she'd never have come to me, and she'd probably still be alive right now. Your baby, too."

"_You fuck!_" Parker's eyes flashed dangerously and she reached for her gun.

"Hush, you," he told her. "It is the truth. All you ever did was swap one Hell for another. At best. You never really escaped, you know. They just go by a different name, here; they dress up like people you've known your whole life and talk to you as though they know you better than you know you. They're still the enemy, the monsters under your bed. Always were, darling. Only, I'd have chosen the other team, I'd have."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" she spat.

"I've worked with all of 'em you've worked with, Sis. And then some. I _do_ know what I'm talking about, un-fucking-fortunately. They'd have been the safest bet. They'd've respected you the way you deserve to be respected - as a _human being_! You can't say the Centre ever has. From the moment you were born they were already spinning fanciful tales of your great and future glories, dreaming of your glowing potential. They couldn't even _see you_, through all of that delusional shit. All they saw was the weapon that was going to bring them so many fucking trophies, medals - win their fucking _battles_ for them!

"They've never cared about _you_," he finished on a low note. "They've never loved you the way I do."

She snorted.

"Forget about Darla," he said blankly and turned away, walking off down the corridor and disappearing around the corner.

Parker couldn't quite shake the creepiness of that comment, above all of the others. _Forget about Darla._ She let her hand slip from her gun but only because she wasn't so keen on drawing attention to herself, and drifted the way of the elevators. She felt no better than before. Actually, worse.

And the worst thing was: she'd stepped into it entirely of her own volition. She always did, when it came to that lunatic they said was her brother. On some level, she was as creepily obsessed with him as he was with her. Only, she still dreamed of finding something good inside him, something worth salvaging as brother material, seeing as her real twin was dead and she'd never have him, never. It was like she was addicted to her own stupidity, she sometimes thought.

She really had to see a therapist for that.

Soon.

.

As it happened, Silvie was wise to her father's musical tastes. Parker had hummed the start of the song for her and she'd known it from the first few bars, so now Parker was listening to Demi Lovato in the music store in the Rada Complex. She never went to Bay Mall; the place irked her. It was pretentious. She'd asked the store attendant if she could listen to the CD before she decided to buy it or not and he'd graciously agreed.

The song was number seven on the track listing - lucky number seven - but for now she was listening to number three, "U Got Nothin' on Me", vaguely browsing through the aisles. She was worried about what Lyle had said, naturally. Worried, in fact, that his respect for the woman would spell trouble for her as surely as the hot little number she'd donned that morning before she'd stepped into the building for her first interview, blonde or not; would spell a sticky ending Lyle would justify as doing what was "best" for his old friend, for her soul or some crap like that, Parker supposed.

She wasn't even sure they'd been friends only that Lyle believed she'd been _his_ friend, and that, obscurely, that seemed to mean something to him, demand some level of humanity from him. The problem was, they were animals too, just like the rest of them on this planet, and animals when frightened, when hurt, reacted with violence, if they still had it in them. Violence was a favourite fix-all of theirs, a fave make-it-better pill. And a temporary moment of violence, to someone who'd been abused for years as a kid, was likely to sync as far nicer in their mind as a lifetime of the shit, which was exactly what Darla was signing herself up for with the Centre.

A lifetime of horror. Never-ending horror.

Lyle would think himself doing her a favour if he killed her and spared her the torment, would think he'd done such a caring thing. Almost like a _real_ human. He was that messed up. He'd think, There you go, Darl, see how I can brush up, too. I can have real feelings, when I want to. When the time's right, the recipient deserving.

She had unknowingly set herself up for that one, in his mind, Parker wholly imagined. It frightened her. She'd have preferred the old Lyle, the predictable, insane freak. She didn't know what to expect from this new person, this person who couldn't quite work out his loyalties when on one side he had an old friend and the other, the woman he liked to kid himself he loved. And all of it mixed up in with the rest of it: the company, his children, the law, his own, messed-up life, the crappy bruise he'd probably hide away behind his fantastic glamour.

This was something she wasn't too keen on Simming. Was seriously putting off. Hell, she was hanging out in a _music_ store, listening to _pop_ music! If that wasn't avoidance, she didn't know what was. If that wasn't procrastinating...

Would he kill her or not? If it wasn't going to be fun, and it would put him in a serious imposition with the law if anyone found out, and he already knew she knew he'd talked with the woman, threatened her life in his own way, what was he going to do? How much suffering would be too much suffering, for his "sister"?

That's what it was all about, Parker realised suddenly, with a funny feeling in her stomach. Lyle considered the woman his sister. He loved Darla like he should have loved _her_, his real sister. Her heart pounded too heavily.

What had Darla done? How had she broke through to the human being inside? And why had she - a trained _Pretender - never been able to break through the truckloads of insanity, abuse and illness? Why couldn't he love her "the way she deserved to be loved", and not in his creepy, insane way? Why couldn't he just be her brother, like the company had told him to be? Didn't he know that was all she wanted? Didn't he know she'd love him if she could_?

Unless he knew exactly. Knew exactly and didn't want her to love him, because that'd make her less than she was, someone, bad somehow; because then he couldn't love her back because she wouldn't be a good person anymore. Maybe he didn't want anyone to show him kindness or tenderness; he didn't believe he deserved it... Yet _she_ did.

She just couldn't believe that! How he could class himself separately, differently from her, when she was just as much the monster he was, in her own way. When he could be so much more and yet he pushed it away because it was too much that he didn't deserve. What hope could she draw from that, what consolation could she take, for herself, for the human being inside of her, mixed up with the monster?

Why did he always find a way to break her heart without even trying? How did he always do it again? And why did she let him, when she'd swear black and blue that she felt nothing for him, why did she let him get to her again? It wasn't as though he was her _real_ brother. Heck, yes, he was a real boy, but she was a real _girl_. She wasn't some lamb, some innocent thing that would take countless pains and injustices to give someone she cared about - a brother, a fellow child of their Father - forgiveness for their darkness that went on and on down an endless abyss of blackness. She would not play the fool for him, and yet she did.

She did again.

The Goddamn Empath always knew exactly the right buttons to press, the security code, to wake her up again, to bring her back to life, spitting and cursing. It was little wonder people cursed Empaths - they were evil bastards alright, some of 'em!

She'd never intended to stoop to this low, to fall for a twisted creature like that, but maybe they all did, in the end. They could only take two paths, and she was too afraid to really invest in the path others would have said the right path: Hate, and not Love. She couldn't entirely hate him. And that was her err, her big undoing. With monsters, it was all or nothing. You bared the slightest hint of throat to them and they sunk their teeth in and spilt your blood all over your shoes. You couldn't just play at indifference.

So, really, the choice was simple. As simple as it had always been. The _right_ thing to do would be to blast his brains out, to end his time on this Earth. All of his black magic would go with him, she'd be let free, she could just see it, taste it. Freedom! It was delicious, almost _too_ delicious, a guilty pleasure, but it was the _right_ thing! It just _was_! Right?

Yet, were that so, she knew Jarod would have taken care of it already. He could have. Easily. L5 Sweeper or not, against the law or not, nothing would have been able to stop him from doing what was right. So why hadn't Jarod acted already? Why hadn't he offed Lyle? He was _not_ harmless, he was deadly. He was _not_ a friend, an ally, he was a fool and he took jealous, angry grudges to heart and too bloody far, way off kilter. He was everything and nothing, everywhere and nowhere. He'd draw you in and drop you over the edge without batting an eye; he just _didn't_ care. Nothing impressed upon him. He was so, so lost. He wasn't savable. He was only destroyable. So, Jesus, Hell, why hadn't Jarod wasted the fucker already? What was he waiting for? _Why_ was he _waiting_, when every second that ticked by was a capital crime waiting to happen? An innocent life waiting to be crushed underfoot or twisted into something horrific? _How_ could he just do nothing?

How could she?

But Jarod was good. Essentially good. He wasn't the monster she was, he merely Pretended to be. Pretended to be good, but was so, so bad, and yet good, in a way. A dozen and one kinds of messed-up and messed-about, just like her, but he'd never have let the crazy get to him, surely? The maniac who'd stolen _Kyle_ from him? The monster who'd stolen his Goddamn _Sammy_ from him! How could he just let that pass, and get back to the hunt, tell himself there'd be another day, another monster to slay, just not that monster. As if just because killing Lyle wouldn't bring Kyle back made it a wasted effort, or too damn hard to face. Because that was bollocks! It was sentimentality fucking itself over, weaving itself false. The monster _had_ to go!

Hesitate and the moment passes, scattered to the wind, never to be recalled, to be held again; hesitate and the monsters live. She couldn't help but hesitate. How could she do anything but hesitate when he was Reagan's father, Silvie's father - her best friend's daughter's father; when he was Broots's friend, when he was the only person who understood Cox when he gibbered on in Afrikaans, when he made such a fool of himself trying to spoil all of Courtland's grand plans? When killing him would make her just as much a monster as him? But, _for God sake_, Jarod had every right! It would just be revenge, plain and simple, clean as that. It would be here today and gone tomorrow, just the way of the world. Why didn't Jarod bring the law down on him if he was really that squeamish? Because, according to the law, that _would_ be just, would be entirely _legal_!

Jarod hadn't been brought up as a real boy, he didn't have to fall prey to that limitation, just as Alex had not. She'd never much been a big fan of Alex but when it was justified, it was justified. Alex had just been sadly fucked-up. All of his glowing potential had been washed away, wasted, and yeah, he'd let it happen, let himself be led down that path, he'd seemed to think he had no choice. Who was Jarod really hurting by keeping that monster Lyle alive? Himself, her, the Centre, the world, his _parents_? Who? Lyle?

Because if that was so, it just wasn't worth it. It was so not worth it.

At the expense of anyone else's life, the sentiment was lost, was twisted into something less, something no longer the same, no longer right. You didn't play with what you were going to kill, you _killed_ it. Torment was a game, death was not. If you intended to kill, then you killed, you didn't diddle about, tormenting and torturing, because then you were something worse than just a killer, you were a monster. A true monster.

Shit, that insane creep Alex had understood that, had only played with them so he could be played back, so he could justify letting it go and still say he'd "won", the sad, little freak. He'd still been so hurt, crying inside but never on the outside, reaching out but never reaching out. He had still been human, in his own way. The right fool could have saved him, she thought, could have been the lamb that took away the sins and healed the wounds, the breaks and wrongs, who gave up her own body to take the scars and pains and ills. But Alex had resisted that fate in every way possible, had pushed them all away, had wanted no-one to save him, had needed to be left that last liberty, that last freedom, to choose his own end. And so he had. Nobody missed him, hurt because he wasn't around, he'd made a clean break. The right choice. Just as he'd wanted, as he'd known was "right", for all the injustices he'd been a party to. The final injustice would be one of his own doing, would not really be an injustice, just a righting of a wrong, finally.

A good thing, at last.

But Lyle was truly a monster. He didn't feel guilty for living the way he had, he saw it as survival, plain and simple. Just survival, and weren't they all entitled to that? It was a birthright, wasn't it? You lived, you died, but in between, you were entitled to fight for what was yours, for the years you had left, you still had ahead of you? Nobody could take it from you and still be in the right, wasn't that what they said? Killing was wrong, wrong. And wrong he could live with being, if only he lived. They could have fought, if they wanted to, but they just never did. Or he was stronger. He didn't ask them to lie down and die, did he? Heck, they should have lived, should have stopped him, bested him, but they never did. The law never caught up to him. Until something changed, why shouldn't he live his life the way he wanted?

Parker knew how he thought, had known for years. She talked to him, she worked with him, she even called him up on the telephone, but she didn't try to make friends with him, she didn't lie to him that he was something he wasn't. No, she only lied to herself that way. She just didn't _do_ anything.

She shook her head sharply and walked past the counter, tossing her chin to the young man. "Thanks," she said simply, and left the store.

She couldn't destroy him because she knew very well who'd be the one monster left on her list when all of the others were crossed out: herself. She already considered herself more a monster than a human being, she'd already resigned herself to the torment and torture with a minimum of fuss. And she _believed_ it. She had no choice, it was the truth.

.

Jarod could not make her make herself a good person, only a bitter person, an entitled person, like Lyle, only she wasn't just a person, she was already a monster and that would be a sight she'd sooner die than submit herself to. So, as much as she felt some crazy connection with him, she could never be with Jarod. It was so easy when she thought of it like that, when they were just two people with their own raggedy, messed-up problems and so totally, so sadly incompatible. It was nothing to do with being "enemies", or old friends once long ago, or anything that related remotely to the company. They were just so horribly wrong for one another, even if when they were close, they got so, so confused and started to believe maybe they weren't so wrong for each other.

It would not be a beautiful thing, it would be a disaster of untold proportions.

It would never happen.

She had to give something back to the world that birthed her and sustained her (in her perpetual state of torment that she'd chosen for herself by herself). Her heart was no good to her in this state of Hell, so she decided she'd give it to the world, to the universe. Perhaps it would take good care of it and she could close her eyes at night and dream she still felt warm inside, as a part of the world, a great, big, loving family.

There were a thousand causes she could tote, clutch at, whilst dodging the bullets, the bloody reality, but Jarod would not be one of them. She would have to find something else. If she was feeling particularly cruel, she'd choose _someone_ else.

But of course, she never would. Out of respect to Thomas, more than herself, because she didn't think she could have much respect for herself when she could call herself a monster to her own face and barely flinch, and just sort of flop forward a little (gravity pulls) and say, "Yeah. Sucks, huh?" When she couldn't even match Alex's effort.

What a bastard, leaving his brothers and sisters hanging here like this! What a stupid jerk! Why did he have to be so uppity, so bloody Alex: I'll still do my own thing, even if you tell me not to. Why did he have to be so bad, and try to be so good? Why did Kyle, the idiot? The traitor!

"Why didn't you stick it out with us?" she yelled into thin air. "You should have sucked it up and taken one for the team! You know _nothing_ about living!" She didn't really mean it but she just had to say it. Had to say it to hear it aloud, to really feel disgusted with herself, to know she was really still human, she really still was her and she'd never just given up the way Lyle had inside.

"ARGH!"

Shit, fuck it! She was gonna fight! She was going to go out with a bang. She was going to live up to her mother's legacy. At least. Give her brothers a run for their money, make them jealous some, on their stupid, fluffy cloud someplace, if that was where they'd gone.

She'd show them a girl could give as good as she got, and she was that girl! Weren't they just bombed they weren't with her, her sweet honey baby? Ah-ha! You betcha they were! They were sooo bombed.

She laughed out loud. "Sorry, boys, this girl's a free agent! If you want me, you're gonna have to prove your worth. Too bad about bein' dead an' all, eh? Oops. _Next!_"

She laughed harder. "That's life."

.

When she'd recovered from her fit of near hysteria, she sat down to write everything she knew about Darla down in her journal, in case Lyle got the very cute idea to off the lady and make them all forget she'd ever existed, with his super High-Class Empath skills, and a dash of tech hijinks thrown in for witchy appeal; Harry Potter-esque, of course. Gorgeous, gorgeous sky, out amongst those soaring hills.

She'd just written about all she could on the topic of Darla of '70s Summer Camp fame, when she started to frown, and not because of those mouthwatering landscape shots that occasionally cropped up in the Harry Potter movies, not that she watched them (unless Debbie brought them around and insisted they watch it because Severus was _too cute_). Her mind was still half-in and -out the door in relations to this denial thing, but there was a point she was trying to come to, truthfully. Strictly speaking, Class Five was not classified as High-Class. High-Class was Six or Seven, and now, with the Tower's new proposition to bump the Classes up to Twelve, for Noah, who the African branch liked to say had been a Nine (and everyone else scoffed and shook their heads: there was no such class), that counted doubly. They might have blah-blah-blahdied on about Noah, but the Twelve Classification was mostly in regards to their Empath Triumvirates and Helixes, in reality, when three or more Empaths were working in concert as a team and not just as a lone agent.

It was pure creepy, in Parker's opinion. When she'd first heard of Empath Helixes - twelve Empaths working together as one unit - she'd had zombie apocalypse dreams for weeks, and her little brother had even made an appearance in a couple, begging to be saved, in all of his four-year-old-and-looks-crazily-like-me glory: save me or just end this bloody living nightmare!

The point was, Lyle definitely wasn't High-Class, so why did Darla think he was? And what were the chances of two Empaths meeting on some random Summer Camp? What Class was Darla? Now she was intrigued; she wanted to know.

She _had_ to know.

And what had Lyle meant when he'd said Darla was getting a job at the Centre for some guy? Was he talking about Bobby, of whom he was an 'alter' - the evil, evil twin - or someone else? Someone dangerous to her prerogative, to the Centre? Could he have been talking about Jarod, and how had an old pal of Bobby's ended up working for Jarod, Lyle's (almost) arch-enemy? Aside from herself, and Peewee Russell on a sparkly, What would Lois do?-induced revenge trip, of course. (Lois would make the bastard _pay_!)

.

Parker walked into Heathrow Lounge and up to Broots, making himself a coffee at the break station. She noticed Lyle sitting on the sofa, looking _very_ morose, staring morbidly down at a folder filled with incomprehensible computer gobbledygook that made no sense to Parker unless she was big-time Pretendered out, in the Zone. "What's wrong with him?"

Broots showed her a photograph he kept in his wallet. It was one of Debbie, Silvie and Jethro. Daughter and grandson, Parker thought. Ah, so that was why he was down. Bzz! What sense did that make?

"_Why_?" she asked, with a frown.

"He keeps telling Silvie he doesn't want Jethro getting to know him. Whenever she goes around to see him, he won't come to the door. I think it's just hard, that's all."

"Why the Hell wouldn't he want to...?" She dropped that line of enquiry. Right, because his daughter was a wanted company asset, because she wasn't "legally free", and it was bad enough she'd come to Blue Cove to be closer to him, bad enough she'd decided to stay. And now she had a son and she was still here. Silvie could keep quiet about being his daughter, but Jethro wouldn't understand the danger, the trouble he could land in if he so much as called his grandfather "Grandpa", the dangerous line you walked every day when you had the Anomaly and someone else looked at you as though you were livestock and far from a human being with rights and shit. He was just a kid, newly turned one year old.

Best just to lay off the scene, actually.

Silvie was trying to be all family now, but once she figured out her dad wasn't the most wonderful thing in the world and honestly, truthfully wouldn't lift a finger if they dragged her in tomorrow, she'd give up on that idea. Better yet, she never find out that side of him. Parker figured that was Lyle's thinking. He didn't want Silvie losing faith in him. She was a good Empath, a Class Five with the added bonus of being a Mediator on top. A real asset, a quality ally. If he could just play his cards right.

So he was probably fighting the temptation of making good with the company by selling out his daughter and young grandson versus making good with his "family", who'd stick by him through thick and thin, if he stuck by them, not just when the accounts were looking good. Who looked at him as a human being and not just a number in a file, not just an "asset".

Oh poor boy. Trouble in the land of paradise, in Monsterville.

Parker didn't feel bad for him. She hoped like Hell he made the right choice and refrained from selling his family out at the drop of a hat. That was her best friend's daughter, her best friend's grandson!

She glanced at Broots, stirring sugar into his coffee. "Have you met Darla?"

He nodded. "She's quite the character, eh?"

"I guess."

"You think maybe Lyle's feeling a bit down because Courtland's hired another Empath?"

"Why?"

"She outshines him. She's younger, she's damn good-looking, she's funny, and she's a Class Six."

"She's a Class Six?"

"Yeah. You think he'll take Lyle off Jarod's Retrieval Team?"

"Stuff him. I need Lyle. He's not just an Empath, he's a Reaper, as well. And an L5, even if he is stupidly klutzy whenever it comes to catching Jarod. I never tell Courtland that, anyway, so who would know?"

"You've been covering for him?" Broots asked, with a visible frown.

"No. No, fuck no. I just prefer dealing with people I know, with quantifiable factors. Not someone I have no idea of their personality or loyalties. I know what Lyle's like. Number one: he's loyal to himself. Number two: for appearance's sakes, he'll stick by whoever's on top of the food chain that month, until the next thing comes along."

"Right, but you've also got that deal thing going on. You know..."

She nodded. "I know, Broots. That's, that's not the issue."

"What _is_ the issue? Are you just hanging on to him so tightly because he has Noah's upgrades?"

Parker scoffed. "Rubbish! That is not at all true, Broots. You know that's not why."

Broots shrugged. "I like her. I think she'd be good for the team. Sydney wouldn't mind her. Heck, I think even you'd like her. You wouldn't always be bickering like you do with Lyle. Sydney would be thrilled."

"He'd be bored to death. He loves when Lyle and I bicker. He's always trying to figure out some way to break up the fight."

"I don't think he loves you two arguing, Parker," Broots replied. "I think he really hates it, he just can't say so, you know, 'cause you're his boss."

Parker frowned. "No way. He'd have told me, Broots. He talks to me. Sometimes. We talk about all kinds of things. We have honest discussions. He gets up in my face about shit, I promise you. You know he does. We have total spats. They're not for nothing, you know. For Courtland's bloody amusement."

"I know that."

"So." She frowned. "Anyway, I thought Lyle was your bud?"

"Well..."

"What?"

"We talk at work, sure, but now that Silvie's living with me, well..."

"I see." Parker patted his arm and left him to his coffee, walking over to sit on the sofa with her brother. He was wearing his reading glasses, looking studious the way he rarely looked whenever she chanced to come across him. "What, they're redecorating your office, dear? Why can't you go in there and get away from this hubbub and general anarchy?"

"It's not my office any longer. It's Stuart's."

"Stuart who?"

"Wouldn't know."

"No?" She sighed slowly. "Can we talk later? In my office?"

"Aren't we talking now? No, I suppose not. We never _really_ talk."

"My office?" she prompted.

He closed his eyes and sort of smiled. She had a feeling he was listening to some song playing somewhere, using his upgrades for things he'd been told not to use them for - for anything, actually, but he was too bad for that, too enamoured of their wonder, their incredible powers, probably. Didn't much care for their deadliness. Could pretend, in an idle moment, that that was just a story told to scare the smaller ones, the children. Or was just too damn morbid to care, uncomfortably mirroring Ethan's natural state of being, the boy who wasn't even his brother, really.

He started to cry.

"Stop it," she whispered, leaning closer. She put a hand on his shoulder, gave it a tiny squeeze. "You know I like you better. Damn me to Hell, but I can't help it. You're my fake brother. Is _she_? No."

He took off his glasses, set them down on the table quietly. "I don't really love you, you know. I wouldn't know how. If you gave me all the chances in the world, I'd throw them all to the wind and ask for more. I'm much too concerned with myself, just too selfish. I can say what I want but I have little patience for much else. I have no steadfastness."

"You have plenty of steadfastness," Parker told him sensibly. "Unfortunately, it's for all the wrong things. I think I can be honest with you, at this point. You're not the Chairman's favourite boy this week. Is there a story there?"

"None."

"No?"

He shrugged her hand off his shoulder and collected up his papers, closed the file he'd been reading, tucked his reading glasses back into his jacket pocket. "I have to get back to work," he told her unemotionally, excusing himself, and she frowned after him. Too much like Sydney for comfort, right down to the forced calm that seemed ridiculously like quiet resignation, or may just have been just that. It slightly freaked her out. Whenever Sydney pulled that one on her she was biting her tongue, on the verge of appearing with a bottle of liquor and suggesting they share it, share a laugh or two to cheer things up, but she never did. She almost never imbibed at work. Besides, if Sydney ever turned her down, she'd never get over it. She'd be crushed.

Now, she wasn't sure what she felt like doing. Like getting up and slapping Lyle, she decided, after a moment, for daring to pull that one on her. Frankly, Sydney was the only one allowed to pull that shit on her. No-one else. Just Sydney. And only because she loved him to bits, even when she thoroughly hated his guts. She'd never not love him. She always had, probably since that first time they'd met. He was _her_ Sydney, after all. She never said so to Jarod, because Jarod was touchy on the subject of his former mentor, but she felt a real connection with Sydney, in an entirely innocent, non-spooky way.

He just made her feel shit, made her want to try again, to live. He was good for her. She didn't feel pressured to impress him, to make him proud of her, she adored him too much for that, he just made her feel like living. She didn't want to be left behind, she wanted to walk by his side, wanted to be a friend, couldn't stand the thought of never talking to him again, of never seeing him again.

Mimi had used to make her feel like that, but Mimi was gone now. Thomas had made her feel like that, but he was gone too. And once, long ago, Annie had made her feel like that, William had made her feel like that. She'd been in love with William and Edie and Annie, with what they had, and then she'd been pulled away from it all and it had just been Momma and Daddy and all of Momma's sadness, the madness that pried her from the grasp of those who loved her. And then it had all crashed and burned, for them all. No more Annie then, no more Momma. William wasn't her friend, then, and she didn't even know why. Didn't understand that. She'd always loved him, with all of his creepy ways, and she'd missed Jacob because Sydney had missed him, his only brother. She'd missed him as though he'd been her brother, too. Had cried at night, for all of those lost loved ones, for all of the garden parties her mother would no longer host, all of the laughter she'd never sing to the wide, open sky, every sunbeam that would no longer kiss her eyelids in the fields outside town, the grasses soft beneath her fingertips, like silk. All of that shared history lost, banished.

When Jacob had died, she hadn't really understood how she could be so sad, yet she had been, as ill-fitting as it had felt. When Momma had died, she'd reached a breakthrough. The horror and grief of it had completely overtaken her, leaving her helpless to countermand it. And then Daddy had sent her away, as though that had been his answer to loving Momma and consequently losing her, to his Angel's long silences and the volumes of tears she shed instead of sleeping: if I'm missing you, I can't miss Momma, too. There's only so much room for heartbreak in this heart of mine.

She'd had plenty of room left in her heart for pain and loss, for sorrow. She'd felt her sorrow like pain, like harrowing physical pain. She remembered laying in bed, crunched up in pain, trying valiantly to swallow the sobs, the tears, knowing if she could just perk up maybe Daddy would let her come back. But Daddy rarely came to visit, as if he meant to forget her, meant to banish her the way he'd banished his pain at losing Momma. Did he mean to wipe them both from his memory, his entire family the way he'd done his first family, Aunty Sarah and Batty Grandma Mary and all?

She wasn't ready for that, she wasn't willing to lose the things she'd first learned to love, to cherish loving, to take happiness from, yet Daddy had given her no choice, that silly, silly man. And then he didn't visit. He didn't visit, didn't come to give her hugs and call her by his special name for her, to remind her that even a human girl could be an angel if she was loved, if she was good and made people want to love and love her, if she gave them a reason for being, for belonging. All the time she was silently screaming, 'I want to belong with you, Daddy; just come and take me back! I love you, don't you see?', Daddy was busy rebuilding his empire, rebuilding himself into the man he'd never been, the man his father had always dreamed he'd be, before Momma had come along and stolen his heart from Daddy and Mommy's ambitions for him.

Daddy couldn't even give her that. Ambitions. He expected her to find her own, to work to please herself when she'd always been taught to please others, to wait for love when she did something right, to hanker for it when she wasn't quite good enough, or quiet enough, or graceful enough. She didn't know how to do this alone thing.

But she had been alone. All that had kept her going was the piano. She'd dreamt of music, in amongst the nightmares. It had floated there, heedless of the pain all around, of the terror pounding heavy in her chest. It had given her hope, it had seemed to say, 'You can be like me, too. You can be free, like I am.'

She'd had the music, and then she'd had Jarod. Jarod, who though he was far, far away, would come to her at night, with his intolerable pain, with his nightmares, and she'd been his music, she'd made it better for him and she'd had someone to please again, to love again. She had belonged to someone again, someone she made better just by being her, someone who let her know just how she wanted to be, without even guessing, because it made her feel wonderful, worthwhile, beautiful. She was truly Melody, as her mother had named her first.

She was no longer Melanie, a name her mother had chosen for her after her big falling out with the Raineses - Melody an ill-fitting name for a sophisticated girl, all of a sudden - she was herself again, and it felt like coming home.

Lyle wasn't like Sydney. She didn't particularly want to feel shit but he just got under her skin until she had no choice but to itch. It never made her feel good, when she did. A lot of the time, she kicked herself for it afterwards. Whenever she smiled at some stupid joke he'd made, she felt like the dumbest person in the world, like maybe everyone who'd ever said so had been wrong and she'd just let them all down, and worst of all, she'd let herself down: she wasn't a smart girl, she was a gullible girl. And she didn't love being gullible, either. She didn't love being easy. She had to fight tooth and nail every day not to crack, not to let the barest _hint_ of anything through her facade, but that crazy was insistent. Whenever she thought she was safe, he wasn't going to touch her again, he was all out of endearing shit, just when she'd started to relax, there was always something new to screw her over.

Just the way he talked to Broots, like he was a human being, the way she never could but wished so badly she could, wished she'd just be allowed to, one day, killed her, made her love him just that tiny bit. He didn't seem to care that he was hurting her, either: he'd be a perfect bastard one day, and the next, completely lovable. She could barely tolerate it, the way she always fell for it. He said she had witchy skills, but she was sure that was him. She didn't really feel these thing, didn't really care for this monster. What the fuck, _care_? Where had that word come from? It wasn't like that at all. It was something else. Some crazy, unnameable pull, some attraction that felt suspiciously like gravity. It hurt like a bitch when you climbed too high and suddenly plummeted back down again. It almost killed you, but that was only life. You did it all again because you had to live somehow and that was part of the process of living, always had been. Only, Lyle had not been a part of life for nearly as long. She had no such complications with her feeling towards other people: not Sydney, not Broots, not Daddy, not Momma. Nobody. Maybe Raines, he was the original jerk.

Sam was gone and it was like he was really gone. Thomas was dead and she'd finally allowed herself to let him go, to set him free on his journey into the afterlife. If he never thought of her again, she wouldn't be angry. She'd wish him well and tell him she loved him once. Love was real and no matter how long you lived without it, you'd never turn away from it if it came back, knocking on your door. Please don't, my once love. Please open that door.

She'd always been good at justifying her feelings, at giving them some semblance of neatness, but Lyle just buggered that up for her. She finally got around to classifying it as Hate and then he dropped this stupid, stupid line and it was somehow funny and that was funny and she felt good, like she'd finally come home, in that tiny, fleeting moment, like this was the place she was meant to be, and then the moment took wing and fled and she was left hating herself and hating Lyle all over again, doubly as fierce. How did he do this to her? _Every_ time! Did he even _try_? Please, he had to have been trying so hard! If he wasn't, then she was ruined. She was beyond pathetic.

The child inside her, Original Melody, couldn't agree. She didn't see anything wrong with that, with being so weak and all over the place and utterly unlike herself. She was always clap-trapping on about the fact that she never even had to try to feel like that, how it was _natural_, and how could it be bad? She shouldn't have been angry at herself, she should have been happy, she'd given the good part of Lyle the justice it deserved. Melody had trouble grasping the fact that she didn't care if Lyle was being genuine, he was also totally genuine when he killed innocent girls. He didn't have to try then, either, that was just the way he felt. It was not cute. And she should have known better, been better.

Melody didn't much like that. She wanted Lyle to be their brother and the fact that he wasn't didn't impress on her at all. She just couldn't let go.

Not that Melody actually talked to her. She rarely talked to her. She occasionally _felt_ things at her, throwing them at her quite carelessly. They'd used to talk, when Melody would "appear" to her, but she'd gone off that, it seemed. Now she just threw things at her and disappeared, leaving her to pick up the pieces and make sense of them, piece them together somehow and find a use for the things they'd made.

It was absurdly childish. Absurdly strange, having a fall-out with _herself_. She wasn't Lyle, she didn't do 'alters', yet here she was, decades after Melody and Molly had integrated, undone by her unresolved childhood issues, bundled up in the form of a sometimes snarky, sometimes pompous little girl.

She'd never been like that, surely. Never.

She had to get to the bottom of this thing she had going on between that lunatic and her. If Courtland was sending him off the team, she would have no excuse to see him every other day. She didn't believe he was her brother, all she knew was that he was a murderer, he was inhuman, and she should have hated him. She wasn't trying to save him, he was so far beyond saving, and she didn't even want him. She just wanted to be around him. It wasn't rational. It was like he was trying to steal her away from Sydney and Sydney didn't even know, wouldn't know because she'd never told him exactly how she felt about him. She couldn't beg Sydney to put the law down with Lyle, tell him to get lost, couldn't pester him all day and hang around too much, afraid when she woke up tomorrow she might not love him as much anymore, a part of her heart stolen by another.

All she could do was try to get through it. If she had felt some physical attraction to him, something sexual, the answer would have been so simple, so easy. Fu_ck_ no! Fake brother, heavy emphasis on the _brother_ part of that title. Plenty of fish in the ocean, as they said; plenty of ways to work around desire. Maybe she'd even have thrown herself at Jarod, indulged in one of her guilty pleasures, an oldie but a goodie. That'd surely cure her, reassure her of how badly she did relationships, meaningful or not, of how big a bitch she was, not good for anyone but, Hell, that was just her. She wouldn't have wanted him then, but she didn't want him now. It was something else. Something bloody crazy she couldn't get her head around, no matter how many times she walked herself through it in her mind.

She never found the answer.

She was at the point of giving in. Did she really need to know why, if it just scared her all the more, if it just made her doubly disgusted with herself. You're so bloody easy, woman! You pretend you're not, but all you do is talk. You bring disgrace to the memory of all those others you loved before, all those _deserving_ of love, of your love, by loving you. And this scumbag just told you he can't love you, and you just pretend you didn't hear him say that. You play dumb. Wake up! He is _trying_ to tell you something. If he's trying to break his habit and you don't listen when he tells you something, if you don't leave him alone, you'll be bringing a whole heap of shit on yourself and him, too.

Stop digging at it. Let it go. If you let go, maybe it'll let go too, and just go away. You're holding onto him. You won't take him out, splat his brains, you won't tell him to get lost, you won't be honest with Courtland and tell him you think he's purposefully screwing up on catching Jarod because he doesn't want to die, he doesn't want to have to kill you, or have you kill him. You can't plant some incriminating evidence and have him taken away, though you're just as capable as Jarod, you make pathetic excuses like the fact that he's your _fake_ brother. Which is what exactly? You won't tell Jarod, "Waste him! For God sake, waste him! It's only a matter of time before he kills someone again."

She could only be so strong and she couldn't do anything else. He made her weak and she wouldn't even address the issue.

She couldn't understand that but that was the most of the issue, she thought. She was always trying to understand, as though understanding it would make such a big difference, but it wouldn't bring those dead girls back, it wouldn't spare their families the pain of losing them and never knowing why, of never being there to whisper "goodbye" and that last "I love you". Understanding, for her, was just a stalling tactic, a reason to do nothing, and frankly appalling. Yet she pinned so much on it, just like a Pretender, so black and white. She should have known better, she _did_ know better, but she didn't.

She needed to get serious, and get tough. Rediscover her morality, her inner strength. She wouldn't be the lamb that took away the sins for anyone, but maybe Lyle could be something like that for her, something to make her stronger, the thing that made her believe in herself again, in goodness and the goodness inside. Shit, if she couldn't dispatch of a _monster_ what kind of a human being was she? What kind of a human being was she to leave that thing to roam the world, picking off people's children at whim, people's daughters?

It would never have the chance to perfect its little trick on her because it would be _dead_.

If she was that better person, that stronger person, maybe she'd finally be able to have some of the things she'd been wanting. Maybe she'd finally be strong enough to love Jarod just as much as he loved her.

.

When she found Darla in the dining hall over the lunch break, she was sitting with Broots, Sydney and Midori. Parker resisted the urge to rush to Sydney's side and spill her heart to him, resisted the urge to gossip with Midori and elicit a laugh. She ignored Broots, wary of saying the wrong thing. She'd come to talk with Darla, anyway.

She set her lunch tray beside the other woman's and glanced at her. "Mind if we talk later?" she asked, to the point.

"Sure, we can chat," Darla replied, smiling at her. "Love a good chat."

Parker wasn't charmed. She reminded herself the woman was an Empath, like Lyle. She'd try every trick in the book if it won her something nice, something cushy, and she'd come here with some ulterior motive that remained mysterious. "Great," Parker replied shortly, and stood up. She took her tray and walked off.

She was heading in the direction of Cox - creepy Frankie was always a bargain for your dollar - Cherry and Plum - Persephone was sitting with them today - but she couldn't help veering off course. Raines was talking with the dining hall girl. Sims was pouring himself a coffee, and Reston was probably working, scheduled for a break at some other time, along with Brown, working on Tower schedules.

A group of adminnies stared at her as she strolled towards the table where Lyle sat, as though she was doing something bad, even though he was her brother. She pretended she didn't see their nosy faces, their what's-she-doing-now eyes. "You're wearing a ring?" she said, with ill-prepared clumsiness and inquisitiveness because she'd just noticed.

"I wanted to," he replied plainly, "and it's mine."

She found that an odd remark, as though she could have mistaken it as Frankie's or something, Sally's, for all she knew. Yeah right. But it was strange, it was definitely strange. Was it his wedding ring? Did Che Ling, dead and buried in the earth, have a matching one? How macabre was that? Extremely, she would have said.

She sat down. He was wearing it on his right hand, the same hand Cox had always worn his on. Since he'd gotten engaged, Frankie didn't wear it anymore. He'd given it to his fiancee, so now she wore it. He'd always had slender fingers, fingers as perfect for playing jazz on the piano as they were for intricate surgery, his two passions in life aside from his girl, his Beemer, his old Merc (the one he'd dumped after killing his sister, for reasons of practicality), his dead sister, and stuffing dead stuff like raccoons; speaking Afrikaans so no-one but Lyle would know what he was saying when he wanted to say something snipey and detesting Cleary for her arrogance and stupidity, as he saw, and being frankly freaked out by Reapers and T-Corp in general. Cox wasn't like Lyle at all. He stuffed dead animals, he didn't kill them. He'd probably killed his sister by accident, in the course of abusing her, but she didn't buy that he'd carried on that tradition: either of abusing young girls or of killing them. He was older now, and whilst Lyle might have been older, he wasn't wiser. He was still as dilly as he'd always been, way back when he'd been some Nebraskan farmboy named Bobby (Just Don't Call Me Robert).

"Your wedding ring?"

"Americans wear their wedding rings on their left hand, if I recall correctly," he replied. "No, it's not a wedding ring. It's a friendship ring."

"I have one of those." Lyle already knew that, of course; he even knew Jarod had given it to her, in all probability. It didn't bother her. They _had_ been friends once, Jarod and she. Once. Past tense and all that crap.

She smirked. "Did Frankie give you it?" Maybe it was for their little club. Two little creeps Cleary had run stories on on her old show, _True Crimes_.Though, she had a feeling Frankie would never have wanted Lyle in any club of his; would've felt violated, probably. He was a doctor, one of the ones who believed in helping people, presumably, in prolonging life, nothing at all like Lyle who thought it was totally okay to take it, if he so desired. "Or Silvie?" she wondered.

"No."

"You gonna tell me who then?"

"No. Maybe later."

"Later when?"

"You're not interested in talking? In your office?"

"In my office?"

"Certainly not in Sydney's," he replied.

Sydney didn't let Lyle in his office, Empath and all. Though his office was right next to Parker's.

Parker touched her coffee cup. "Okay." She looked at him, into his face, but he didn't look very pleased, very enthusiastic. He was still looking morbid. It annoyed her. It made her nervy to be alone with him. She pushed the uncertain feeling away and decided she'd better eat something. The sooner she finished her lunch, the sooner they could talk, the sooner he could be out of her office and her life.

Maybe he'd tell her he was the one messing with her head, and it had been him all along? Yeah, right! Still, if she was going to hope for anything, that seemed like a good starting point.

.

She closed her office door after her, leaning back against the door. "You buy it yourself so you could spin me a tall tale, Lyle?" she asked seriously.

"Emily bought it for me."

"You are truly unconscionable," she told him. "And you're seriously going to wear the thing?" Hell yes, he would, if it tricked the girl into thinking she was safe with him. Fuck yes. He was that unconscionable.

"Jarod's sister," Lyle said, just plainly.

She made a face. She didn't like the way he just put that out there, as though they were on the same wavelength in regards to his madness and she'd just assume "Jarod's sister" meant _not his type_, and therefore "perfectly safe". She hated that he thought he'd perfected pulling one over her, but she wasn't about to let him know so. "Why would she get you something like that?" she asked, supposing that seemed most natural. "Hang on, why would she get you _anything_ to begin with?"

"To remind me to be my own friend."

"You've only ever been your own friend, Lyle," she said.

"Not really. I wasn't anybody's friend."

"And what, you're humouring Russell to get on Jarod's nerves? Is that it?"

"I don't think Jarod knows Emily got me it."

"Well, we should really tell him," she said, with a grin.

"Don't, Sis." He frowned. "Do you have to?" he amended, losing the slight edge of annoyance in effort to win her over.

"So you're trying to con Emily now? Finish the job you started and failed."

"No."

She lost her patience then, truthfully sick of his moroseness. "Then what exactly is your fucking game, Lyle?"

"If this helps her recover from what I did to her, then it's a good thing. I'm just trying to do something for her, that's all."

"Why?" she asked blankly, with a glare in her eyes. Yeah right.

"It's the right thing to do, Sis. I hope she recovers. It's a waste, otherwise. I messed things up for her, but she's still valuable as a human being. She still has talents she can share with the world, in a meaningful way. Why not? What do _I_ have?"

"Are you seeing a new therapist?" Parker asked, with narrowed eyes.

"No. I refuse."

"Courtland can't be too happy about that."

"It's my life."

"Did you ever think he hired Darla because he's not convinced of your investment in this company, in bringing Jarod back in?" She gestured a hand at him. "Because of _this_ kind of behaviour?"

"Do I care?"

"Yes! Yes, you should bloody care, Lyle. You belong to the company. They own you. You sold your soul to the Devil, stupid. They could _make_ you see that therapist, but so far, they haven't done that. Try to cooperate, for a change. Don't make things so difficult for yourself. You like to feel hard-done-by and you'll find anything to justify feeling that way. Be your own friend and cut that shit out."

"I don't want to see the therapist. I don't want to listen to all of that again. I've heard it so many times before."

Heard it, probably; had thought about it and taken it in, unlikely."Tough it out."

He glanced sadly at nothing in particular, in the middle of her office. The hairs on the back of her neck rose the way they always did when he made an appearance in her office. She'd heard from Sydney some woman had killed herself in this office, back before it had been hers, decades earlier. Before she'd even been born. He didn't say it'd been her mother's office back then, but she knew it had been. "You can sense it, can't you? Her?"

He winced and turned his back to her. "Yes," he replied quietly.

"Why did she do it?"

"Her expectations for her life didn't measure up to the reality. She did it so she would have the last say, only her. It was a way to exert some control over how her life ended up going, finally. She was too young."

"She planned it?"

"It is very likely."

"Sorta shitty."

"Yeah."

"So what's going on with you? What's this crap you're playing at now? You can't think it will change anything between us."

"I am not playing, Sis. I'm trying."

"But _what_ are you trying?"

"I'm not sure yet. I haven't tried it before."

"Then stop."

"I don't want to."

She laughed. "This isn't some ploy to please Russell, is it? The cute, twenty-somethings aren't interested in you any more so you're about ready to go for anything that'll have you, and you're imagining Russell would ever be interested in you that way? Stop dreaming. It's not going to end well, for either of you."

"I don't want to get her into bed, or anywhere else you might think. I just want a friend."

"No. I know how it is with guys at your age. You don't just want a friend, you want a friend with benefits."

"I would _like_ a companion. But how can I subject someone to that, in good conscience? I am nothing like anyone could ever need, I couldn't be anything they needed, they'd just have to be what I needed and I'd have nothing to give back to them."

"You've got money, haven't you? You have a job."

"I don't know. But what sort of a conversationalist would I honestly make? Would I ever bother to listen to anyone else's opinion? Do I do so now? Would I...? Would I be able to contain myself from assholey behaviour? I _can't_ be a friend."

"You'll never know until you try."

"I have tried. I tried with Che Ling. I tried with Lin. I tried with Sam."

"How much do you want this?"

"I have nothing to live for. I have all of these... wonderful reasons, and yet they mean nothing to me. They're just so inconsequential in my mind. I want to _care_!"

"And you think Emily can help you with that? You refuse to talk to your therapist, but Emily's different? She's ginger and slightly racy?"

"It's not about that, Sis."

"That's the kind of guy you are, isn't it? How can it be about anything else? You've gotta start small, Lyle. You are who you are. Some things you can adjust, others you can't. If you rush into this too hard the shit you're imagining's going to go down won't be coming along fast enough and you'll lose all taste for the notion, you'll just feel like it's a big rip off. You'll piss it off, then you'll be right back to where you were before. Alone, knowing damn well you're a real bastard, and that's not going to be helping you. A friend would say take your time, remember to breathe, don't wish too hard, these things take time. You've come this far, stick it out. It could turn out as something really great."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not you. You're not sorry, you just think you are. I don't want you to be my friend. I don't need any helpful advice, today or tomorrow or even next year. If I want to talk to someone, I'll go to Sydney. But I can give a little something once in a while. To keep things civil between us."

There was a knock on her office door. Parker gestured to the door. "Darla. Well, I'm glad we talked..."

"Thank you."

"Oh, don't. I didn't say I was giving my blessing on this thing. Frankly, I think it's crazy. Russell's probably using this 'friendship' tack as a ploy to avenge Kyle's de-"

"I don't care. I don't."

Parker scowled and walked to the door. "Shut up and just go. We'll talk some other time. Right now, I need to talk with Darla. Keep trying, nothing else you can do." She pulled open the door. "Come in. Lyle was just leaving."

Darla touched his arm as he was passing and Parker fought the urge to pull a face and slap Darla's hand away. She knew what Empaths were like, that sometimes they got touchy, sometimes they'd hate you if you so much as laid a hand on them. Lyle didn't push Darla's hand away, he just walked out silently, without saying a thing. Parker shut the door after him, glancing at Darla.

"Bobby is not happy."

"Darla, you have gotta stop calling him that," Parker told her seriously.

"I know."

Parker snapped her fingers. Like that, like right now.

Darla winced. "Lyle. Lyle. Lyle." She shook herself. Nope, still couldn't get used to it.

"Why don't you like that name, anyway?" Parker asked.

"It was Bobby's father's name. Total bastard if there ever was one. Yes, we met. He was _not_ good for Bobby. I hated the way he looked at him. It just gave me the creeps."

"And what about the way he looked at you?"

"No. That never got to me in quite the same way. I mean, I knew where I stood with him. I could read his assessment of me perfectly, and it was rather ordinary. I did not like how he looked at his son. He was supposed to be Bobby's father but he barely seemed to register that Bobby might be a human being himself, that he might have... his own path in life, that only he could walk himself. He only ever thought of himself. Like Bobby was something he owned, something he'd paid good money for. Disgusting."

"You must be a good Empath."

"I have my days. Both good and bad. I just care about Bobby. When I needed help, he helped me out. He never said 'no, can't do it'. He might hate me now... Let's just say he might be pissed at me, but I'm still gonna do what I'm gonna do. Doesn't mean we can't still be friends. When he's ready to be friends, I'll be here."

"How does he do that?" Parker asked, carefully hiding her astonishment away. But _how_ did he do it? How did he make people care about him?

"Do what?"

"Why do you care for him? Surely you know what he's done."

"What has he done?" Darla frowned, but it was a comfortable frown. Darla had no idea of the person Lyle was underneath, Class Six Empath or not. She had absolutely no idea.

"He's killed people, Darla," Parker told her.

"Well, yes, you sometimes have to. If that's your job, that's what you're gonna do."

"Outside of work. He's killed people who had nothing to do with his job. Young women."

"Mmm-mm. Those girls. Right, I remember that. Scary shit, huh?"

It was Parker's turn to frown. She stared at the woman as though she'd never really seen her before.

"I do know about that," Darla said casually, and Parker felt physically ill just hearing the way she said _that_. "He's not such a bad kid, a bad boy, he's just messed up. Slightly."

"You're crazy." Parker couldn't remember the last time she'd told someone that, or with such plain conviction, but this woman was definitely insane. All the way 'round the bend.

"Alright. I'll admit. That was fucked-up," Darla conceded. "He should give it a rest with that shit, but you try telling him that."

"_Was_? He killed someone's child - _children_ - and he'll do it again!"

"I get the picture."

"No." Parker shook her head. "No, I don't think you do!" She was suddenly spitting mad at this woman, this crazy, _stupid_ woman!

"Cool it, Rory," the woman told her, with a frown. "Don't you be laying that shit at my door, right. That's Bobby's shit, not mine. You take that crap to him, yell at him, if you think it'll make you feel better, give those girls some of their dignity back, some of their fuckin' life! The problem is - it won't! Nothing will." She glared at Parker. "You want him to stop it, you make him do it. Lay down the fucking ultimatum. He'd listen to you. I can feel it. He'd do it for you."

"You're wrong," Parker hissed. "He knows my position on this. He doesn't care!"

"You think he doesn't care. Do you even know him at all?" Darla shook her head at her, dropping the glare completely. "I don't think you do, do you? You've bought the facade just the same as the rest of them. They always do. It's prettier."

Parker felt massively like walloping this lady one, like punching her in the face, and the way she said "It's prettier" as though it was such a big injustice, like _she_ was doing something so, so bad for going along with it, made Parker want to hit her even more. She was sick to death of hearing about _poor_ Lyle. She didn't care what they'd done to him, it didn't give him justification to do the things he'd done. It partly explained _why_ he had done it, but it didn't give him justification, and it _never_ would. There _was_ no justification for murder.

"He doesn't believe he can stop it. He doesn't believe in himself enough, Miss Parker. Can't you understand that?"

"He doesn't want to stop!" Parker growled in a deadly voice.

Darla frowned, tilting her head strangely. "Wait. What? You think...?" She blinked, the frown clearing from her face. "Yeah, maybe. Maybe he doesn't want to stop, but he can't... he can't deny that he should. He knows it's wrong. Just the fact that he has to justify it to himself points to the fact that he thinks it's wrong. If it's not wrong, why do you have to tell yourself you had a, b, c reasons? You wouldn't need to, eh. He should stop, but he thinks he needs it. It's comforting for him. Me, I prefer chocolate, but Bobby doesn't touch the stuff."

Parker hated this woman. If nothing else she'd said had done it for her, her analogy just then had, comparing murder to chocolate. And she was wrong. "Lyle does eat chocolate. Our mother used to, when she was down. Lyle does too."

"A bit fatalistic," Darla remarked. "Mind you, I think that goes beyond just being down. It sounds to me more like an attempt at forcing a wake up call on himself, or just wallowing in his own misery as though that gives it some kind of sick validation, gives him some kind of messed-up joy. Ooo, I have to take this pain and I do that, don't I? How brave am I? How messed-up, how stupid, am I? Funny even, you might say. Yep, oh the colourful life I have. Yet, I am living it! I am getting through it.

"He likes to hurt himself sometimes, I'll agree with you on that one. But it's... it's only to show himself he's strong enough to get through, to live another day. It's not because he really wants to hurt himself, it's just that he can't see what else he has handy that'll be strong enough to get through, to break through all of the messy stuff floating around making a nuisance of itself in there.

"He would stop if he could." She sighed heavily. "He really does care, Miss Parker, but there's just too much. Too much that hurts, hurts, hurts, too much he can't do anything about, and all of the stuff he can't do anything about stops him from doing something about the thing he can do something about, stops him from seeing that every journey starts with one step. One step at a time. Sometimes you just get overwhelmed, you know?"

"You're just going to excuse him time after time, aren't you?" Parker spat, in disgust.

"Perhaps I am," Darla replied. "Miss Parker, what did you ask me here for? If all you're going to do is throw this crap at me, why are we even talking about it? Why am I even standing here when I could be out that door already? What did you intend on asking me when you approached me in the dining hall?"

Parker had to physically rein herself in to recall the reason herself, but she managed it, with a little assistance from her Pretender side, just like engaging traction control. "You're a Class Six, supposedly. What Class is Lyle?"

"A Five, I guess. But didn't you already know that? Of course you did." She frowned, still not catching on to Parker's drift.

"He was able to conceal me from you. How? If you're a Six and he's less, how?"

"Well, that's different, of course. You're family. Blood. Heck, maybe it's a speciality of his. In any case, he's not just an Empath."

"And how would his Reaper side help hide me from you?"

Darla frowned. "Boy isn't a Reaper. Is he? Okay. He's just... mutty." She searched for the right descriptor. "I... I knew there was something different about him, but honestly, I never would've guessed it was that. A Reaper, you say? Mmm. But, yes, more so an Empath than anything else. The other thing's really just negligible in comparison. I... I have trouble picturing that, honestly. The way he let himself be treated..."

"He's not a proper Reaper," Parker told her icily. "He has a dash of Reaper in him, he doesn't have the full package. I don't think, with his lack of proper Reaper expression, that the onset of his abilities would have manifested as normal. It might not even have become apparent until puberty, which is when his mom said he started to change."

"Elisabeth. Mom of the Year."

Parker ignored Darla's deliberately lightly sarcastic comment, as though the absence of sarcasm was greatly sarcastic in itself, was telling in itself, ignored the trace of disgust underneath the casual tone. Darla was only making more excuses for her pal, Lyle. She never seemed to stop. Maybe she was in love with him or something. It was disgusting.

"I'm not going to pretend to know how Mutt Boy hid you from me, all's I know is, he did. No big fuss, girl; shit happens, ya know. I was pissed before, now I'm not. More power to the boy. That's what they're for, them spooky powers - good shit, nae bad shit. Boy may be waking up to himself. You can spend your whole life taking and never really winning anything, but maybe, just maybe, you wake up one day and think, 'Why don't _I_ give something?' And then _suddenly_, what you get back means something! Hallelujah, you've earned it! You've really _connected_! And boy, don't it feel good?

"You know, the old, 'Don't be taken in by false comforts, false delights' story?" She grinned. "Maybe he is changing. After all, now that he knows how wrong he's been, how much time has he got left to enjoy the realisation, to try something different? At his age. How old is he now, fifty-one?"

"Fifty-two," Parker corrected her darkly.

"My point exactly. Love it! Let's hope he really is waking up. Could do him some good, not to mention, could do all of us some good." She nodded. "I'm sorry we couldn't come to a comfortable understanding between the two of us, sorta like friends, ya know, but I've gotta get back to work. Would love to stay and chat but, argh..." She turned her hands up, shrugging lightly, and headed for the door. She didn't try to touch Parker when she strode over and grabbed the door for her, just said, "Tah", and left it at that.

Parker wasn't sorry they couldn't be friends. And she didn't believe her story. She didn't believe Lyle was _just_ a Class Five.

.

"What's happenin', boy? Why haven't you stopped this creep already?" Darla was leant against the door frame in the photocopier room where he'd gone for some peace from the other techs' glares. Whatever the Chairman had told them, they were obviously blaming him for that, even if it had nothing bloody to do with him. He'd been working in Research and Development and now he wasn't even doing that, he'd been in a whole different sector, and as much as Broots was the unofficial head tech, he was also part of Parker's team - not the official head of the department - and so they couldn't blame him for it, either. They'd been saying some nasty things to Broots before but when Lyle had told them to give it a rest they'd decided that it must be his fault, so now he was sitting in the photocopier room, trying to figure out what was wrong that was getting their heckles up so much and fix it before they torched his car or committed some other miserable act.

He wasn't in the mood to talk to Darla about what she wanted to talk about. He had work to do and as horrible as it was to say, he didn't have the time. If he didn't do his job it would be _his_ life on the line, and people counted on him. People he cared about and knew. People who were more than just fellow human beings to him. People he loved and worked with.

He looked up from his laptop finally and met Darla's eyes. She wasn't moving until she'd gotten her answer, it seemed. "I can't," he replied plainly, but feeling anything but. He felt an overwhelming disgust at himself. _I can't_ hardly seemed an adequate excuse for why he'd failed all those girls, why they still died, time after time. Maybe he hadn't failed them because they didn't know him, they didn't know he could help them, if he just _could_, but _he_ did. And whenever he thought about it again, everything else felt like the world's biggest cop-out, and he just felt thoroughly wrong.

"That's all you can say?" Darla returned, her disgust clear on her face.

"You're an Empath too, you know. Why don't _you_ do something about it?"

"You _know_ why!" she growled. "This isn't _my_ case!"

"Well it isn't mine, either. I'm not FBI."

"_You_ got involved!"

"And now I'm de-involving myself," he replied, just as plainly as he'd told her he couldn't help her out, couldn't help those girls out, all of the ones waiting to die who didn't even know it.

"You fucking bastard!"

"You mind buggering off, Darla? I'm actually trying to work here."

She grabbed the door and slammed it with as much force as she could, stalking away angrily. She didn't even bother putting a lid on her anger, it flowed out of her like water, making everybody she passed cringe and stiffen, as though freaked out she'd suddenly turn and hit them, or snap their necks.

She couldn't believe her old friend could be so callous! Oh, how the times had changed. How the children had changed their tunes. They thought they had something now so they were going to hold on until they broke it and it crumbled into dust, whatever it was, in the first place. It was certainly nothing as important as having real morality, as feeling spiritually ethical, as feeling connected to their world in a just and meaningful way, but they'd been seduced by the deluded masses and they'd twisted and turned until they fit right in.

She'd done it too and it pissed her off. Why had it had to get Bobby? She'd always thought Bobby would be the last to go, had always thought he'd sooner die, and now because he had something here, he'd fallen just as easily as a house of cards.

He'd lost himself completely but somehow thought he'd found something truer, something more worthwhile.

.

Lyle set his laptop down on the floor, blinking back tears. Why did Kiku have to be so...? Why couldn't she understand he wasn't some bloody saviour, he was just one _person_! He could not save those girls. He had tried and tried. For years, he had tried. And nothing. He was still no closer to the truth than he'd been that first night he'd cut his hand and ended up in Tazu and Chiyo's dorm room.

Didn't she think he'd love nothing more than to close the door on that chapter of this crazy story they were all living, but it _wasn't_ happening. He certainly didn't _want_ those girls to die, but he just couldn't stop them from dying. They were his Goddamn sisters! Couldn't Ki understand that?

Why did she have to make it about him being some kind of bastard like the rest of them? Even if he'd been the one to perpetuate that story, he still didn't like it when it was coming from someone who _knew_ the truth. He wasn't the one killing those girls, even if he should have been the one stopping the person who was. And he _was_ trying. Every week, he tried to find just one thing he hadn't known before, but it was all the same, all more of the same. Nothing new, nothing bold enough to save a life - nothing stood out - and it was coming to the point where he had to force himself. He had to force himself to go over it again because he really didn't want to, he just didn't want to know he was wasting his time on something that never drew any results, and still his sisters died, and still he couldn't change that.

But he had to do it, because he couldn't ever give up, couldn't pretend he didn't have this ability that not one of his sisters had had, and that he might just get lucky one day and stumble on something that proved helpful, that saved a life.

He had to do it even if it made him miserable and hurt.

Because life hurt, and it didn't. So you went on, because of the things that didn't hurt. Because they were damn worth it.

He watched Chiyo's daughter growing up in Sweden and felt the beauty of life, felt loved by this world, this universe, because he was alive, too, because he could _feel_ something. He felt included, and that, really, was the closest to love he was ever going to come when it came to his relationship with this world he lived in. He would never feel exalted, whatever that meant. Grateful for every single breath, for every day, because some of them just sucked, and that was how it went, that was how all this shit went, so why should he feel grateful for that? Wasn't the fact that he was aware of it enough? Grateful was a pointless word. The universe didn't want gratefulness, it didn't function for such reasons, it just did because it did, and it went on because it did. It did what it had always done so what was the point of being grateful when it wouldn't change a thing regardless but for him, only for him, and he just never could think like that. The future was, after all, another day. Could be good, could be bad... Could just be another day, until someone appointed it as good or bad...

It would be easy, he supposed, to say he was grateful for being alive, for being here now with these people who could help him to know himself, to grow into being himself, but that would then lead down the path of blaming another when things didn't go as hoped, of blaming the Universe or God or whatever, and he didn't like that idea so much. He was bad enough morbid without that thrown in for colour.

He was grateful that Miss Parker hadn't shot him, though. She was an individual, he could appoint gratefulness to an individual. To Parker, for letting him be a person, to Jarod, for that too, to Emily, for loving him, to Silvie, for being his baby girl, to Reagan, for being so very brave and still seeing the goodness in living even when the one person who should protect him couldn't pull it off, for being his son; Hell, he was grateful to all of his children for showing him just what kind of a person he could be, if he wanted it enough, and for showing him the truth, for showing him he had limitations, too. To all of his friends and acquaintances for being there on his path in life to help him on his way to being the person he was today. But he didn't always feel that way. He didn't always want life to be like this, he didn't always _love_ being alive. He didn't always enjoy living.

But it was his job, after all, in this life, and he was going to make a good go of it, had to respect the notion of life that much, and yes, respect himself as a part of that notion, that system, as an agent of Life.

So he went on, and when something was simply unacceptable, he did his best to analyse his motives for finding it such, and if they were true, then he tried to rethink his plan and find a more acceptable way of being, of doing, of living. There wasn't always answers to all of his questions but if he rearranged the questions, he could find a temporary fix.

Life was full of temporary fixes. Band-Aids.

.

"Why'd she call you a High-Class Empath?" Parker growled, as he was walking to his car, and he stopped to turn and look at her, sighing.

"Because Five used to be considered High-Class, before the restructuring of the Classing System bumped it down to Medium and all that _glory_ entailed therein. I used to be spiffy, way back when, now I'm just home-cooked. Bye-bye, Whiskers Blake."

"They used to be mediocre, but they're really upmarket these days. They make some good stuff," Parker said, of the seafood restaurant she'd once worked in over her summer break, back home from boarding school in Canada. Her father had promised he'd have time to spend with her that summer, it was the first break he'd bothered arranging for her to come home to the U.S., the first and the last. He didn't have time for her, so she got a job and pretended she was really having fun, expanding her horizons.

"I know. I've been there before. We went together, with James and... What was her name?"

"Long time ago then," Parker replied. If Daddy had been around it was. Years and years ago. It almost seemed like a lifetime ago. She couldn't remember the woman's name, all she remembered was that she hadn't liked her. And, damn it, Brigitte hadn't even been dead that long. Not even two years. He had bloody _married_ the woman! When Thomas died, she'd barely even been able to think about hugging anyone else, Daddy, Sydney, or otherwise. She'd hated to touch other people, it had just reminded her of how she'd never touch Thomas again, never feel him hold her.

And what had Daddy done?

But, to be honest, he'd wiped Brigitte from his thoughts as quickly as he had Cathy, and maybe that was what had ticked Parker off so much. Brigitte was supposed to be her stepmother and then they weren't allowed to talk about her, to even _think_ about her, it seemed. To think about the fact that Reagan, _her_ little brother, didn't have a mother.

"Natalie. Nat."

"You're probably right," Parker said. "Mind you, before you distracted me- She's an Empath herself, Lyle, I think she'd know about the Classing regulations."

"Of course she does, Sis. But it's still new, and she's spent a lifetime functioning on the old system."

"A lifetime? How long has she known she was an Empath?"

"You know what I mean. A long time. I don't know how long she's known."

"Did she know when you two met in Summer Camp?"

"When I was eleven? Sorry, twelve..." He shook his head silently.

"She seems to think you could be a specialist in Blocking. You don't know your speciality, do you?"

"I don't have a speciality."

"You don't think you do. What if you do?"

"Then pst! Keep quiet about it, okay. I don't want the Tower knowing absolutely everything about me. I'd like to maintain a modicum of privacy, if at all possible. They know everything bloody else about me."

"They know you started life as some hick from the middle of nowhere, Nebraska?"

"Obviously they know. They know I'm not really your brother, they know all of that. That... I had a different name and I did some questionable things. Criminal things. Raines couldn't hide it all from them. They make it their business to know your every business when they choose you to play at being a Parker, to make sure you're really up for the task. They wouldn't want to bring disrepute to the Parker name. The Parkers have given everything they have to this company, over the years. It would be disrespectful if they'd just chosen anyone. Actually, what am I saying? They _did_ just choose anyone." He laughed. "I... I've honestly never asked why they chose me. I guess I liked the pretence... That I was your brother and I wasn't just some only child, high school drop-out, insane screw-up. But..." He patted his hair. "Someone charming and intelligent and successful.

"It's crazy, but I guess I just wanted to be... it's the wrong word but... pretty. In my own eyes. Not, not just somebody else's, somebody who didn't even know me. I wanted to feel like I mattered and that's how I feel when I'm with you. When I'm your brother.

"I'm sorry. Well, I'm not, but you know what I mean. Your brother's dead anyway and has been, like, forever, so I personally don't see what you're missing. I mean, yeah, that sounds pretty shitty, but why can't I be your brother?"

"Why can't you stop wanting me as your lover?" Parker spat. "If you really want to be my brother, I'd really fucking appreciate if you got it into your sick, little head that it's called _incest_! It's Goddamn illegal and I don't _dig it_! If you even tried not to _leer_ at me when you look at me and just _look_ at me, maybe that'd be a fucking _start_!"

"Seriously, Parker? You'll give me another chance?"

She glared at him. "I don't know," she growled. "I'll have to think about it."

He smiled. "Thanks, Sis."

"Don't push it!"

He just smiled at her.

Creep, she thought silently. Why was she even suggesting something like this, like giving him another chance when she was supposed to be wasting him? Was she insane or just a bitch? Then again, it would be poetic justice, wouldn't it? A strange sort of justice for all of those girls he'd murdered, if she was to chum up to him all sister-like then just whack him one day when the mood struck her and even play the hurt sister card at the funeral. She liked that idea, actually. It sounded like a charmingly happy ending to the lunatic's story.

"What am I thinking now?" she asked.

He closed his eyes, smiling a little bit. "Chocolate ice-cream." He clicked his fingers. "And green sprinkles!"

"I'm not a little girl. I can live without the sprinkles," she said, with a secret smile inside. Yep, the guy was clueless. Empath or not, she could still Block him any day. He'd no doubt found out about her fondness for green sprinkles from Sydney, she thought, or Jarod, it didn't worry her. Just because he knew what she'd liked to get when Catherine had taken her out to the diner as a little girl? Nope. She was still on top, and he was an idiot. He really thought she meant it when she said she was gonna give him another chance, or else he wanted her to think he'd bought it, but she had a feeling he really believed her.

_He_ wasn't that good at Pretending.

"Mmm-mmm. I know just the place. And they have green sprinkles!"

"Do they have pretty waitresses?"

"Possibility."

She moaned. "Ugh! Here we go."

"I'm turning over a new leaf. I'll be good, promise."

"This I've gotta see."

He laughed. "O-oh. Now I've done it."

She pointed a finger at him. "Hell, yes! You're paying, right?"

"I can do that."

She waved a hand. "Lead the way." She almost added a 'little brother' on the end, but changed her mind at the last moment. It would be too much and could risk spoiling her success, and she was too happy right now to even consider something like that. She wasn't the only gullible fool around, it seemed. Ah, the perks of being good!

Now was not the time to start calling him 'brother', but it would come sooner than she knew it. Soon, she would hold all the cards. Maybe she could manipulate this connection they had to her own ends, and screw him! It wasn't as though he was her real brother. She already had one of those, and he wasn't a psycho murderer.

Ah, yes, she thought she could get to like this. Getting her own back against the bloody creep, prove she was more than a match for a Class Five Empath.

.

Silvie dropped the house keys down on the kitchen counter, setting Jethro on his feet. He'd recently learnt to walk, of a manner. He'd been good today. She'd had to take him along to work with her, to a poetry club sort of thing she'd been singing some jazzy numbers at. He'd been very, very good. Two and a half hours and he hadn't thrown up a ruckus at all, he'd just quietly observed all of the people, content with his bottled juice and water. She was thankful. She dreaded the thought of leaving her baby in daycare or hiring a sitter who may be the same person next time or someone else.

On the way home, they'd listened to Natalia Clavier quietly in the car, and he'd fallen asleep, but he'd woken up the moment they'd hit the driveway. He wasn't talking much but he could say words like Maman and Papa. She wasn't worried about him. She was worried about her dad. She couldn't help it.

Jethro was sleepy. He patted a hand to his cheek and stared at her sort of sadly for a moment: I want to sleep, Maman. She took him to bed before starting on the task of dinner - "Sleep well, little baby" - slipping off her high heels in the hallway by the hall cupboard and walking barefoot to the kitchen. She was driving again; her epilepsy hadn't troubled her for years, only five times in her entire life. She knew she was fortunate to have inherited her mother's expression on top of her dad's. Had she not, well, life would have been different for her; certainly different. She did worry about how her son's life would be, would go, because of this thing she'd given him, but she did not, _never_, regretted him, having had him. She loved him dearly. He was her baby, her child, Ezra's child.

Today, she needed music around. She put on Sukke and skipped to track six, "Boibriker Suite", a traditional, instrumental number.

There was food about the place, so she didn't have to go out and buy anything. She set about preparing dinner, looking forward to Ezra arriving back from work. He'd said he may be running late. She really needed a hug. She'd not rung up anyone else, she just wanted a hug from her man.

When Ezra got in an hour later, twenty minutes later, he made no comment on what she was listening to, though she could feel the question hovering between them - Goth girls didn't usually listen to this kind of stuff, did they? - as if, to his mind, there was a right and wrong way of being "Goth". Perhaps she was being terribly naive, and there was such a thing, but she didn't like to be moulded by her preferences. They were her preferences, her choices: they did not own her, she chose to partake of them. She was a lot bit Goth, a little bit witchy, a little bit folksy, one hundred percent Earthling, Child of the Universe. She liked all kinds of things, just not necessarily all of the time.

She walked over and silently put her arms around him and hugged him, he with this slightly amused expression, for a moment, still thinking about the klezmer band playing in the background. "Dinner's nearly done," she whispered, finally. "How was your day?"

"Okay. Yours?"

"I had a good day. Jethro's sleeping right now. Would you like something to drink? Coffee, a glass of wine? Beer?"

He wasn't a big wine person. She preferred wine, he preferred beer, but a little wine would probably go better as an accompaniment to dinner and he'd never been a heavy drinker. Silvie often had a glass of wine but she didn't drink a lot either.

"A glass of wine will go down nicely, my love," he replied. "What are you listening to?"

She told him a little about the band - it was quite interesting, actually; first European klezmer band and all - and soon is was time for tea. They had a glass of red wine over dinner and talked about music. It was relaxing, quiet, nothing stressful there. It was only when Ezra asked about her parents' religious beliefs, if they'd had any, and she replied that Elsie had been Lutheran, that she went to make herself a coffee, needing the comfort; put on Alfio. Her parents weren't religious, no, but she believed in love, as silly as that sounded in today's complicated world.

She took Ezra's hand and they danced silently to "Stars Shine For You", just a gentle, easy thing, a reason to hold one another. Too soon, Ezra had to take a phone call and she turned down the music and went to check on baby, humming along to "Quando Quando Quando" as she left the kitchen.

.

Emily closed the Dara Joy novel she'd been reading, a Matrix of Destiny romance, and peeked over the cover at her older brother. "Yes?" she asked.

He grinned. "Romance, Emmy?" Lately, he'd started to call her that.

"Always!" She set the paperback aside.

"You look tired," he said.

"I am. I couldn't sleep." She picked up the book and offered it to him. "I had to know how it ended."

"Naturally."

She mussed up her hair with a hand sleepily. "I think I'll go to sleep now. Goodnight, brother."

"Goodnight, Emmy." He took the book from her and walked to the door, waiting for her to switch off the lamp before leaving the room. They'd rejoin Margaret and Harm soon. Margaret would be pleased to see them, her children both and her little grandson, Hubertus.

He'd noticed that Emily hadn't been sleeping all that well lately, obviously worrying about this and that, but she wasn't talking about it. Perhaps she spoke with Ethan and Mo about it, perhaps even Harmony, but she didn't bring it up with him. She never much talked about her feelings with him, just about the practical stuff. Sometimes, he wished they talked more, about anything, not just "shop", the Centre, all of the others after them - after _him_, now. He longed for her to be his little sister, to be her supportive older brother. It was probably silly, but he couldn't help it. He felt like there were some things he'd missed out on, he'd been deprived of, that he'd never get back, that he'd never experience in this life, and he hurt for all of those things he'd never felt, things he should have been able to feel, to have.

He'd never even been allowed to feel sad for Sydney when Jacob died because he hadn't found out from Sydney, through "legitimate" channels, and so he hadn't been able to bring it up. He'd never been able to connect with the people in his life properly, to really get to know himself, as a consequence. Not much had changed but the scenery, really. His siblings were reluctant to take him on as a big brother, his mother didn't know how to be around him, and his dad was worse. Margaret, at least, was honest; with Charles, Jarod never knew what he was and wasn't letting through. Harmony... well, Harm was his mom's friend. Em's friend. And now that she was corresponding with Sydney, he never brought up mention of his mentor around her in case anything he said ended up in their online conversations and Sydney figured out that she had connections to him, to Blue Cove's escaped Pretender, because that would be a _real_ joy! Yes, a romance novelist was deadly dangerous, for sure! Just _deadly_!

But, of course, the Centre would just about believe anyone a danger to them if they so much as glanced at them the wrong way, smiled when they thought they shouldn't have been. People weren't allowed to have lives with them lot, just to tow the line, always to tow the line. They were insufferable, really.

He retired to his own room, reading the prologue and the first chapter of the book Em had given him, some twenty-two pages, trying to take his mind off his worries, for a time, but it wasn't very successful. Margaret knew about Harmony's correspondence with Sydney, yet she hadn't told Harm to cut it out. He didn't know why that was. Margaret and Harmony's friendship was a strange thing. Sometimes, Harmony really got to him. She reminded him of someone, yet he couldn't put a name to that person, though he knew he should have been able to do so easily. With practised ease. And now, this thing with Syd. Why had Sydney singled her out, out of all the romance novelists in the world, in the USA alone, to take issue with? Why Harm? He couldn't answer that question, and he couldn't ask Sydney.

He grabbed his cell phone.

"Yeah? Hang on, mmm, Lyle Parker. I'm awake, honest. Who-? Hey! Oh please, I did not just see that! Oh, go ahead, if it makes you feel better." He snickered. "Sorry, who is this?"

"Jarod."

"Why are you ringing me?"

"I had a question."

"You? A question? For me? Strange, but I'll buy it. Hit me, what was your all-important question?"

"It isn't all-important."

"No. You merely keep odd hours. Go ahead..."

"That writer...?"

"Parker's favourite writer."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah. I know! A romance writer. Perhaps there is a chance for the two of you after all!" He laughed. "I should not be saying that. Oh yes, darlin', it was definitely the meds. Let us blame the meds and absolve ourselves of all accountability. Just the meds, you see, darlin' - I mean, your Honour. Those bad, bad meds." He laughed again. "Ignore me, really. I do like to make fun of my medication. It's supposed to be funny.

"How are you, anyway? Keeping out of the way of our good friends at T-Corp?"

"So far."

"Good on you!"

"I'll not be anybody's Pet," Jarod told him coldly.

"Gosh, no, _shudder_! Never surrender, my child! Kills the allure dead, that. Surrender. Don't do it. Just don't do it. And the family?"

"Wouldn't know."

"We, of the Cult, are- Head, my friend, do you know nothing of courtesy? I am conducting a conversation. Your interruption is illy favoured... We're managing, actually. We wouldn't mind seeing you back again, but we are certainly not hopeless without you. I can't say if I'd rather Barb over Allan, but we're getting by. Always do. Don't worry about that. I gather Sydney just needs someone to talk to about something that doesn't revolve around the Centre, or anything to do with this industry. She's not a Tower spy, sent to evaluate his value to the company. At least, I shouldn't think she is. But who else knows you better than Green? They're not going to try anything cute.

"I know people, if they think they can get fresh. Healer people. T-Corp folk who have a great respect for Sydney. They'll lend a hand, if it should be needed. They do like Sydney. If he'd just leave the Centre, they'd welcome him with open arms. Do not ask me to explain, but Sydney seems to have that charm. It is a strange charm, for sure."

"Why would you care what happens to Sydney?" Jarod asked darkly.

"Care? I don't care. This is nothing to do with caring, Jarod. People respect Sydney, that is all. I have regard for him, I don't really give a damn. If I expect to be treated with regard myself, I must dish some of it out myself. It's not going to kill me, you know. If life is essentially a game, you don't stop playing because then you'd be as good as dead. I can play the game. I wouldn't have gotten this far had I not been able to. And, to me, it seems like Sydney is important in this game."

"Why is Sydney important?"

"The company thinks he is. Dad thinks he is. Sis thinks he is. That's good enough for me. As if I could care less about anything else, really."

"What do you think?"

"I just told you what I think."

"No, you didn't. You told me what other people think, not what _you_ think. What do you think? Do you think Sydney's important?"

"I don't care. Didn't I already say? No, I- To me, as a person, no, he is not important. Then, if it were merely down to me, you would not be important, either. What I think doesn't matter. I work for the Centre, I don't work for myself. Because we both know how absolutely disastrous that would be."

"You don't work for the Centre. They own you."

"Yes. You're right. But I mean to... Let us not use the word 'mutiny'. I mean to be free someday, in any case. The time will come."

"When you're dead, you mean."

"Well," Lyle laughed, "hopefully before then."

"That's a bit of a tall order, don't you think? You have Noah's upgrades. If they took them out, you'd die."

"Ah, yes, well...!"

Jarod shook his head, looking very unimpressed. "Don't get any ideas, Lyle. Even if you somehow managed to remove them and they expired, the company would be after you for that. They wouldn't rest until you were dead, until you'd paid for what you'd deprived them of. You do not know how important that child was to them."

"I surely don't, Pretender. Oh, no, having the squirt's upgrades has impressed on me not at all. Not at all. But, fear not, one day I shall understand, _insh'Allah_. I shall not remain ignorant for the rest of my life, Jarod." He laughed. "I understand alright, Russell! I understand more than you think. I understand the horror they have made my sister's life because of her association to that child, because she happened to be his twin. They have never ceased their machinations. The girl is continually tortured by them, by all of them; myself included, I realise. Do you truly understand what we people have done to her? You must have some idea, after what you've endured yourself. Come on, Jarod. We have been _so_ unfair. We never even gave her a chance. Imagine if she were your child, how you'd f-"

"But she's not your child. She's not even your sister, in reality," Jarod reminded him, wondering why the Hell he was even bringing all of this up.

"If it is their wish to perpetuate that horror upon that girl more successfully with these upgrades, then they shall not have them. I would sooner _destroy_ them! We may not be related by blood, but she _is_ my sister, now."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Jarod asked.

"She has said so."

_Empaths!_ Jarod thought angrily. They never gave it a rest with the creepiness.

"I will treat her decently, from now on. She is my sister. It would be disrespectful of me to do otherwise."

"And the company's really going to like that," Jarod replied.

"It's none of the company's business, really."

"They _own_ you!"

"Bugger them. I don't _like_ them!"

"Doesn't change the fact."

"She should have been chairwoman!"

"But the Tower decided they'd rather Courtland were chairman. You can't change that fact. And the Tower own you. They tell you what to do, now."

"Nobody tells me what to do!"

Jarod laughed. "You just keep telling yourself that, Lyle."

"Oh, I will, _insh'Allah_."

"And would you give it a rest with that. You don't believe in God."

"And you would know what I do and don't believe, Jarod?"

"Actually, yes, I would know when it comes to that! You have new neighbours?" Perhaps he was getting it from them, Empath weakness.

"Oh, really?"

"I was asking you."

"I don't bloody know. I don't much care to know, truth be told. It's not as though I'm going to bake them a casserole and welcome them to the neighbourhood."

"You should. If you're at all interested in maintaining your goodie-goodie image, you will."

"Not interested."

"No?"

"Do not give me ideas, Jarod. Honestly, man!"

"You're misconstruing my words, Lyle. I did not tell you to..." He sighed heavily. "Do you even know _how_ to be human?"

"Of course I know! There is a difference between knowing and feeling, even for me. I can't just Empath something and simply make it so. That doesn't always work. It is merely a facade, a glamorous lie, but a lie nonetheless."

"So you won't even try?"

"By _lying_ to myself?"

"No. By giving yourself half a chance. You'll never know until you try. By testing yourself. It might be uncomfortable, but I believe you could just pull it off. You're a Class Five Empath, for God sake! Start believing in yourself, for a change. If you're really invested in proving to Parker you've got what it takes to be her brother, take a chance! Surprise her! You know it'll be worth it. You know she _can_ care."

"And I shouldn't ask that of her. I should not. After all she's been through. So why have I? Why am I so _stupid_?"

"Stop putting yourself down. We both know it'll only incite you unfavourably. Just accept the fact, you want to mean something to Miss Parker. That's not necessarily a bad thing. If you're serious about this thing and you don't mess her around, it might even be a good thing."

"They _own_ me!"

"But you own you, too. And she means more to you than they do. Sometimes you've gotta fight for the things that are truly important to you. Don't just settle for what you _can_ have, but go after what you believe you _should_ have. She is your sister now, you said it yourself. She has accepted you as her brother, she's accepted the challenge: you can't back out now. You have your honour, after all. Your honour as a _person_, your honour as a Reaper. Don't let them take that from you, too. What are you going to do? Just let them walk over you your whole life, or make a stand and take it back? It is your life, not theirs. If you don't like it, change it! Accept the past and move on, into the here and now. You are an Empath. You _can_ do it! You are not bound to play the victim all your days, whether or not _they_ own you. They don't own your soul."

"May as well."

"No, not 'may as well'. You're not thinking broad enough. They do _not_ own your soul! Your conception of self is really messed up, you know. But you're not beyond repair."

"The things I've done-"

"And that was then. That is not you now, Lyle. Don't you think I've never felt the same way? Because I have! But I've accepted that the past was the past and I've decided to live. Now! You _can_ change, even if you can't change everything you want. Even a little change for the good is better than none at all.

"I want a lot of things, but merely wanting them doesn't make them mine. For instance, I'm not too enthused with world hunger, but that doesn't mean I know how to solve the issue. Oh, wow, that really sucks!" He snapped his fingers. "Doesn't make it all better. You have to be realistic. No, I don't like world hunger, but is it my fault personally, my fault only? No. Can I help in little ways? Yes, I suppose I can. As can others, and together, we may be able to help in larger ways. But I refuse to take that all onto my shoulders and beat myself up over it. I can help in other ways. I can contribute meaningfully to this world in other ways, and much more successfully. I have the skills. I care. Why let that go to waste?

"I'm going to listen to this voice inside that says this is the person I may have always meant to be, and, you know what, I really think it is. Sometimes, I feel really awful, but sometimes I feel really good, too. I'm not giving that up. Nobody can make me give that up!

"So, if you want to go on lying to yourself because it's easier, you know, it's really up to you, but if you should choose not to ignore that feeling, well, great... Just remember, if it hurts, it's not always the cue to give up. Sometimes, you've got to take the upset and tackle it head on. Giving up will just make every progress you've made moot, make everything you've gone through to get to that point seem wasted and useless, and seeing anything that you've invested yourself in reduced to something less than it is isn't nice, seeing something that began out of goodness reduced to so much of the same, so much of the same old problem, that hurts too.

"If you're serious about being Parker's friend, then I won't tell you it's a bad idea. I won't say you should reconsider. Go for it. But if you mean to screw her over, don't think I won't take offence, because, as you said, Parker's been hurt, and she doesn't deserve more of that crap. If you think I'll stand by and watch you hurt my sister and act like I don't care because she hurt me too, you're dreaming, pal! By goodness, I'll take offence! The difference between you and me is, I never needed Parker's or anyone else's say-so to give a damn! I said so myself! That was good enough for me. When it comes to Parker, I've always believed that what I felt for her was real. Stuff what anyone else said, I've always felt secure enough to admit it to myself. I ask for nothing in return, because it would be nice to have something back, but what I _need_, already here, already in my hands. She makes me care; she just makes me more human. Even if she hates me, I'll not relent. I always want to be the best I can be. I always want to be this human. To feel this connection with what I am and this physical plane.

"They can't take that away from me. They can only make me want to give it up. And you know what, stuff 'em! The crap they've done, they haven't won anything. They wouldn't know anything about anything, living in their narrow-minded world with their narrow-minded world-view; but they won't take me down with them; no, sir. My beliefs are my own and they can pry them from my cold, dead hands, frankly."

"Sounds like you're onto a good thing. You sure take things seriously."

"Due regard, that's what it is. I'm a human being, but I'm not the only one. I'm a sentient being; one of how many others. There's a system and I appreciate that. If you want to call that 'serious', go right ahead. I just call it 'living in the real world'."

"You're lucky you can see it that way."

"No, not lucky. I just decided I wasn't going to accept all of the crap that was being heaped on me, the stuff that wasn't really realistic, wasn't really how the world worked at all, and I went with what I thought _was_ realistic. No matter what anyone told me, I have always believed that to be my right. If I wasn't made to think, to analyse, I wouldn't be able to. I guess I was lucky, in a way, but I could easily have chosen another path. Looking back, I see that. It's just that I didn't. Not the person I am, I guess. But everyone has to start somewhere, remember that. I had Mom and Dad, when I was a kid. Then I had Sydney, and Miss Parker and Angelo. _They_ did not take me down. I believe I am someone, I am worth it. The things I do, are worth something. Nobody has to tell me, 'Why don't you try this? Sounds like a good idea, doesn't it? It's certainly got my vote', for me to make a decision on whether I'll pursue a certain course of action or not. I feel comfortable enough to do that for myself.

"The way you grew up, you can't deny, it was nasty. You were deprived of some important stuff, and not necessarily by design, but merely because you weren't exposed to it. Your mom was pretty down on herself, after all, and your dad can't have honestly been any better. He'd not have acted the way he did towards your mom and you had he thought much of himself as a human being. He might very well have thought he was down with it, but in reality, your mom wasn't some monster; you weren't some monster. You were both approachable, reachable. He just... refused to take that chance, to even acknowledge the possibility. Frankly, he's a disgusting person. But he wouldn't admit it, your mom probably wouldn't admit it, either. It rubbed off on you. I understand that. That sorta thing is always wrong, always sad, but when you come to the stage where you can understand where your problems are coming from, you can also change the way you choose to interpret them. They're experiences, challenges, no longer problems. You start to learn to work _with_ them, not _for_ them. And suddenly, they're not the boss of you. That's what I'm talking about!"

"I believe in myself."

"But what do you believe about yourself?"

"I- Can you just hang up now? You can really talk, can't you? Honest, I thought _I_ was bad! You might be Parker's pal, but I'm not asking you to be mine. Shit, I don't want you to be my pal. No way. I'm not great at giving a shit about people that give a shit about me, re: Jimmy. I let myself down and I let other people down. If you start holding your breath now, it could end badly."

"You're not going to argue that your father really was a bastard without exemption?"

"No. Bugger Lyle. He'd be so fucking happy. I don't feel like even _thinking_ about him. I know he was messed up; I couldn't be stuffed analysing it six ways to Sunday. Besides, you know about this stuff right, and you met him. I think I'll just take your word for it."

"That's not like you."

"What can I say? I really couldn't be stuffed."

"It would be beneficial if you understood it."

"I do understand. He was my father for thirteen years. I saw how he was. And now that I've been away from the situation so many years and I've had time to think about it and think about my own shit, I get it. He was a bastard, but nobody exists in a vacuum, as it were. There were extenuating circumstances. He might have made all the wrong choices, but the avenues to facilitate those choices weren't put there by him. They were put there by society, by all of us. Yes, he is responsible for his actions, but... who knows if things might have been different? The past is the past, right? I can't change what happened. And I am not beholden to him or anyone else! To my crappy past! I can change, if I want to! Can we just not talk about him anymore. I am completely, irrevocably over that man. Let him fuck up his own life, if he wants; he's an asshole, clearly. Someone will give him a piece of their mind one day."

"Or he may change."

Lyle laughed sarcastically. "In whose dreams, Jar?"

Jarod frowned and leant away from the phone, for a moment. Yeah, no, that wasn't at all freaky! Jar was Parker's nickname for him; it creeped him out Lyle calling him it. He didn't linger on that thought, in case Lyle got the idea that that was a really good way to mess with him, but said: "Stranger things have happened. But you're probably right. I won't hold my breath.

"You should try not to get Courtland's heckles up so much, too. The Tower listen to the guy. If you get in his bad books, he'll retaliate. Seriously retaliate. There's making life hard for yourself and then there's making life hard for yourself, you know what I mean. We can be smart about things. Certainly, I believe you can be. You obviously have that capability. You've done so in the past, haven't you?"

"Sure. That's very true. So smart." Lyle was being sarcastic.

"You've gotten away with a lot of shit," Jarod pointed out.

"With the law, not with anybody else."

"Well, that's what I'm talking about. If you can be smart about that, you can be smart about other things."

"I do not like that guy!" Lyle said seriously.

"Is this because Parker's been chumming up to him?"

Lyle laughed darkly. "Oh, no! It goes way, way beyond just that! Parker can hold her own against that man any day. Any day! He's the chairman, Jarod! You don't get to that position without doing some unconscionable shite!"

"I follow you. Is there someone in particular he subjected to this unconscionable shite?"

"In particular? I just don't like him."

"He's the chairman of the branch Mr. Parker appointed as guardian of your son, Lyle. It's perfectly understandable. Any parent might feel the same way. I heard from Sydney they're not letting you see him."

"And I've accepted their decree, haven't I? That isn't the issue."

"It isn't? Heck, what _else_ has this guy done? I mean, he sounds like something of a character right now."

"It should have been Parker!"

_Fixating, much?_ Jarod refrained from a sigh. As much as Lyle said he wanted to change, he still couldn't admit it pissed him off that Courtland had the final say-so on what went on with his kid. Not a good sign, but perhaps he had to tackle this thing his own way, in slow steps. It wouldn't be very good for Lyle if he lost it with the guy and killed him. It would be _very_ bad, in fact. Jarod glanced at his watch and almost choked. Wow! Lyle hadn't been kidding. He _could_ talk. "Are you working tomorrow?" he asked.

"As far as I know."

"In that case, you might want to hang up before I get any more ideas to go on. Slight addiction to chatting on phones."

"Right. Tah. Keep your eyes out for them T-Corp folk. They can be convincing. Real convincing. It's not always easy to resist them. Best to keep their hands off you."

Jarod stared at his phone in horror and hung up quickly. Ugh! Guy advice from Lyle. _That_ was too much! He dropped his phone and shook his head. What was that loony playing at now?

.

"Jarod?"

Jarod opened his eyes and frowned up at Emily. She looked concerned. The television was muttering softly in the background, the evening news running. "Did I fall asleep?" he asked.

She nodded quietly. "Bad dream?"

He grimaced. "Maybe."

Hubertus was asleep on the bed next to his, Em's bed. Jarod walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. He didn't reach over to touch the little boy's arm, didn't want to wake him. "He's doing well," he said.

Emily joined him on the bed, sitting down beside him and leaning over to touch her son's hair. "He called me Maman today," she told Jarod.

Jarod frowned. "Where did he pick that up from?"

"Dunno."

"His father, perhaps? Jean Paul?"

Emily laughed. "Really, Jarod!"

"I've never met the guy, Em. I would like to. We all would."

"So I've been told."

"You know who he reminds me of?"

Emily's eyes darkened in a frown suddenly. "Who?"

"Hubertus. You know who he reminds me of?"

"No."

"Miss Parker. I know, strange, but I swear. Something about him just... makes me think of Parker."

"Well, he's my baby."

"I know, Emmy. I know it." He frowned, his eyes settling on hers. "Emily?"

She looked down at her lap, smoothing her skirt over her thighs. Lifting her eyes to his abruptly, she said, "Oh, that's ridiculous!"

"Ethan isn't really our half-brother. Has he told you that?"

Emily's eyes widened in shock and horror. "What are you getting at, Ja-?" She fell short, lifting a hand up to cover her mouth, eyes bright with horror.

"I don't know why Raines wanted Charles to think Ethan was his, but it's not true."

Tears appeared in Emily's eyes. "He _is_ my brother!" she whispered.

"I know what you're saying, Em. It doesn't bother me that we're not related, he's still my brother, but it does make you wonder." Gazing at his sister, Jarod noticed that Emily's hands were shaking. He'd upset her.

"There's a reason Hubertus reminds you of Miss Parker," Emily said quietly. "A legitimate reason that has nothing to do with Ethan and I being..." she almost couldn't get the word out, "together! I love Ethan as a brother and a person!"

Jarod frowned, reaching for her arm. He returned his hand to his side, without touching her. "I didn't mean to upset you, Emily. I just assumed Ethan had told you. I know that the two of you are close. I wasn't judging you... or Ethan."

A couple of tears trickled down Emily's face, but she didn't make any move to brush them away. She let them fall, her eyes wide and full of anguish.

"Do you know who Parker's father is?" Jarod asked quietly, the idea just occurring to him. Perhaps _Hubertus_ was Parker's half-brother, as unlikely as that may have seemed. Jarod certainly didn't believe Raines was Parker's father.

"L-" She didn't get much more than that out because Jarod had just then placed a hand on her arm, his own eyes wide.

"Lyle is not Parker's brother, Emily!"

"He says he is."

"Emily, you're a smart girl."

"He's a Class Five Empath!"

Jarod made a face. "Emily..." He sighed heavily. "You didn't have to do this, Emmy."

"He knows things!"

"He's insane." He sighed, holding up his hands. "Look, Emmy, I'm not going to fight with you. If you think this is the best use of your talents, go ahead. I would have preferred we talk about it beforehand, but we can't undo what's happened."

"We needed an Empath," she said quietly, almost in a whine.

Jarod glanced at Hubertus. "He's a child," he said. "Before he's anything else, he's a child. He's _your_ child. Lyle may be a fuck-up, but Hubertus is his own person."

Emily nodded silently, finally brushing at her tears.

"I've seen the way you look at him, Em. I know you love him. He's your child." He sighed. "Mom and Dad don't need to know this, okay? Not just yet, anyway."

Emily frowned. "You want me to lie to them?"

"Nooo. It's not lying, exactly. Just don't tell them who his father is, if you don't have to."

"Mom knows."

Jarod stared at her, silently, for a moment. "You told her?"

"She knows things."

"What's that supposed to mean, Emily?" he asked.

"About me," she whispered, heartbroken. "About my past."

"Boarding school?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, her eyes tearing up again.

"Oh, God! They hurt you?"

She didn't say anything.

"Oh shit!" Jarod swore. He knew Emily had gone to the same school as Parker, but he'd never imagined that they might have met. There were too many years between them, almost a whole decade. "You were in the car with Mel?" It all started sinking in now. "You were her friend. Mimi. She thinks you're dead! _You're Silvana's mom!_"

Emily wiped at her cheek, whispering, "Yes."

"Emily..."

"I couldn't tell you! I was afraid! I was stupid."

Jarod shook his head. "No. You're not stupid, silly. I get it. If you'd come straight out and told me, who knows how I could have reacted. But now I know. It's okay."

"I'm so stupid."

"He's your Convergence partner, Em. That is not an easy bond to break."

"Mel did it."

Jarod shook his head. "Parker didn't do it; Lyle did it for her. Don't ask me to explain how that worked, but it certainly wasn't by Parker's doing that Sam upped and moved on without a word. They must've been indoctrinating Lyle a lot longer than they have Parker, that's all I can say. It probably goes all the way back to Bobby's days. I wouldn't put anything past Raines, frankly. If it was him." He frowned. "May have been Cathy. Bobby was an Empath, after all. He could very well have sensed Catherine, or at least her will. Perhaps that's why he's always been so obsessed with Parker. Catherine meant for him to be a brother for her, but she failed to factor in the damage Elsie and Lyle had brought down on that boy. I'm not sure he could understand something like that, I don't know if he could understand having that kind of connection with someone. If his performance with Jimmy is anything to go by... She likely overestimated his Empathic ability."

Emily shook her head. "Why would Catherine choose him?"

"Because of Raines's interest in him. Because, if he played his cards right, he'd one day find himself in a unique position. Having Raines believe him a trusted ally, but truthfully being otherwise. Working for another ends. After dying at the hands of someone she'd believed a trusted ally herself, Catherine would probably have been thrilled by the idea. The idea of getting back at William, at using him to see her baby girl was protected, in some manner."

"But Lyle isn't Parker's ally. He's on his own side, nobody else's," Emily replied.

"That's what he'd have us believe, yes."

"What are you saying?"

"Convincing as he is in the role, I'm not quite sure, Emmy. What are your thoughts?"

"I..." She shook her head. "I don't think I can be trusted to think clearly, under the circumstance. He is my Convergence partner, and, what is worse, I _care_. I'm sorry, but I couldn't help it. I still can't. I know he's not a good person..."

Jarod's eyes brightened. "But it's perfect!"

"But that doesn't make it true, Jarod," she reminded him.

He nodded. "I know, Emmy. But just think-"

"We cannot know. If it is true, we must leave it be. If we upset his cover, we might ruin everything," Emily told him seriously. "We can never know, Jarod. Please, you have to let it go. Just let it go."

"Is that what you did?" Jarod asked. To protect her beloved friend, to go on believing such a thing just possible, had Mimi let go of her concerns over the character of this person she believed herself to love, this _thing_? Was her love for Mel that strong; did it command such sacrifice and ignorance? How brave was this girl he knew as his sister, how barbaric? Were all who were brave barbaric, callous, selfish, in some way or another?

"I had no choice," Emily said.

"Do you believe he's bad?"

"We are all bad, and not," Emily said. "I have done such terrible things, Jarod. To survive in this world, I have done things. I have hurt people, I have brought others into this world and abandoned them, though I'd believed, at the time, that I would love them forever and ever. And I do love them, but you can't always help those you love. Sometimes, all you can do is hurt people, or simply fade away. My darling has done so many bad things, but he is still my darling. I am not that strong, or else I am, and I still hold hope for the salvation of his soul. My thoughts tend to ramble; they're not always easy to fathom. I am a living being; I can be distracted. My hand can be caught and pressed to another's heart; I can be captivated by the beating there. Life, it breathes its own bewitching song. I do not know how to answer your question. Truthfully, I don't."

"Do you think he cares about you the way you care about him?" Jarod asked.

"A nice thought," she said, with a smile. "A beautiful fantasy, Jarod, but I don't hold my breath. I understand that people can be so damaged."

"How do you want me to think of you, Emily? Would you prefer I looked at you as consort to a monster, or merely as my little sister, swept up into a cruel fate?"

"That's up to you, isn't it," she said. "I will always look at you and see my brother. Honourable and brave and _my brother_! I don't ask that you think of me kindly, with sympathy in your soul. I would ask you to let me walk by your side, as an equal. I will take responsibility for my actions, if the time comes to do so. I was terrible, thinking to deceive you and stave off the inevitable a while longer, but I see I was wrong."

"There are things I haven't told you."

"All is fair in love and war," Emily said, with a smile.

Jarod smiled back at her, but he couldn't help the feeling of uncertainty that overtook him. Was this really his sister, or was this simply a facade, a way to survive? And would it be okay if this truly was Emily, his little sister? Would he love her still?


	2. Chapter 2

The kitchen table was strewn with papers, assorted documents, books and exercise books, and in the middle of all that unruliness sat a laptop, silent as anything. The refrigerator across the room wasn't nearly as silent. The exterior of the fridge was clean of any paraphernalia, which was a change. Not a single photo, not one magnet. Parker sipped her coffee, listening to the CD playing from across the room. Country, Adam Harvey. She'd been to a lot of places, but she'd not been to Australia. Jethro had a stuffed kangaroo, though. She'd bought it for him. She wondered why today was Country Monday, what Lyle was working on.

"What are you working on?" Translating, she assumed, but she had no idea whatsoever what. She placed her coffee cup down on a patch of clean table – between a mess of papers – and pointed to something scrawled on the piece of paper Lyle was frowning at. "What's that word?"

He redirected his frown to her face, gestured to the table at large. "Healers. All of this, it's about Healers. I guess the Centre want to know a little more about them, now that they've decided some of them can be useful beyond being dead."

"You've really got some Healer issue, haven't you?" she said. "What's your problem with them, anyway? Why do you always get so iffy whenever anyone brings them up? What's it to you what happens to the Hoodoo Band?"

He made a face, looking at her funny. "They're Healers!"

"You're a serial killer," she countered. They were complete opposites, Healers and him.

He went on staring at her seriously, smiled suddenly and snorted, shrugging a shoulder. "Maybe I'm crushing on Blake Nash-Tam."

"You're fifty-two."

"She's _adorable_!"

Parker shook her head. Sure, crushing on the Daughter of Nash. She bet. Messed up, more like.

The CD player started playing The Platters "I Love You 1000 Times". Country Monday was done for.

Lyle hummed along with a little smile that made her think, disturbingly, of Bobby, of I wanna be an airline pilot, get myself a cute little lady and... mmm, about half a dozen kids. She could never remember being like that. Whenever she'd been asked what she'd wanted to be when she grew up, she'd never thought _mother_. She just never had. When she'd gotten pregnant, it had been a real shake-up, but she'd been prepared to go through with it, and then it had been cruelly snatched from her. Forever.

She narrowed her eyes and tossed her head. "That crap say anything about my best Healer, then?"

He grinned, shook his head. Everybody knew of her fondness for Blake's husband, Rooney Tam, and their son, Chase. It was a real pity they were taken, the both of them. "Nah."

She rolled her eyes. "I meant the Mysterious Healer," she informed him matter-of-factly.

He was still smiling. "Nup."

"You better tell me if it does," she said, with suspicious eyes.

"Sure thing, Captain."

She grabbed her coffee. "I mean it."

"Got it!"

"Can we change the music?" she muttered darkly. "I couldn't give two stuffs what _Bobby_ wants to listen to, that kid is messed up! What is his _obsession_ with love songs?"

Lyle laughed. "I dunno. You should ask him, Sis."

She shot him a withering glance. "Oh, would you hook us up?"

He sighed, closing his eyes.

Her eyes widened and she waved a hand frantically, standing up to lean over the table and grab his wrist. "Hey!"

He opened his eyes. "Mmm?"

"I was kidding, dummy! I don't wanna talk with that..." She scowled, shook her head.

Lyle looked put-out.

She sighed heavily. "He wouldn't even want to talk to _me_!" she said. According to Lyle, he didn't even talk to _him_, and he was his alter, successor, whatever. Big brother.

"He thinks you're very funny."

Parker didn't make any comment on that one – she was not fucking _funny_! – but ran a hand through her hair. "Fine. Page the weirdo. All we can do is try." She hated to concede, but she had said she'd try this giving him a second chance thing... and maybe it would be handy to have Bobby on her side, if she could swindle it. If she could, she reminded herself. He was supposed to be more Empathic than the tosser sitting across from her, attempting to contact his "other half".

She waited for Lyle to open his eyes, liking this idea less and less as each second ticked by. Aw, heck, what if the kid got ideas? What if he made a break for it? She was good, but was she really match for a former high-Class Empath? If he decided to Impress her, would she really know he was pulling one over her. He'd done it before, after all. Lyle had, in any case. With other people. Planted a false reality in their mind with a minimum of fuss, real high-Class Empath shit.

It was a wonder the Centre had so many cameras dotted around everywhere. Empaths could mess with your head, but they couldn't do the same thing with tech, upgraded or not. She'd yet to hear of it, in any case. She was still waiting for that nightmare to break.

Lyle opened his eyes and stared off to the left as if uncomfortable. Parker figured this was Bobby, uncomfortable in the presence of other people. No, he'd never been the big hit that Lyle imagined himself to be. He'd always been second-best; Jimmy had been the real attraction. Nobody had ever got that, how they could be friends.

"Hey, kiddo!" Parker greeted.

Bobby made a face at the floor, looking like he could just gag. "I know you're not Catherine," he said, in an unmistakable Nebraskan accent.

She brushed off the feeling that he was accusing her of something with his words, and shrugged. "Wasn't trying to trick you. Lyle didn't tell you I just wanted to chat?"

"Maybe." Looking suitably angsty, "I don't always understand him."

Parker laughed. "You and me both, kiddo!"

Bobby reached to twist a lock of hair around a finger and remembered, right, he wasn't no kid no more. "Chat?" he asked dubiously, with wide eyes.

Dinah Washington started playing. Parker refrained from glaring at the CD player. Oh, sure, now with the sad love songs! It was possessed, had to be! Couldn't it just play the one thing and quit changing its mind at random.

"It's a compilation recording," Bobby said. "What do they call it these days? A 'playlist'?"

"Huh? Sure, chat," she agreed.

Bobby reluctantly met her eyes, smiling slightly, then his eyes widened in horror and he glanced away again, then back to her face. "Are we married?" he asked with exaggerated drama, so like a teenager.

Parker coughed. "No, kiddo, we're not married. I'm your sister. We can't get married." She supposed he'd seen the ring Lyle was wearing.

Bobby gave her a plain _Ah, what's she thinkin'?_ look, and said: "Lyle and I. Are _we_ married? Or, well," he sort of scowled, "him?"

Parker shook her head silently. "Not that I know, kid. It's a friendship ring."

Bobby stared at his hands, then closed his eyes, thinking intently, apparently. He opened his eyes again. "I see," he said. "A lady gave it to him."

Parker smiled, tossing her head. "That's what I heard." She was totally loving the 'a lady' line, the sheer horror. "She's a nice girl. You'd like her."

"Yes," Bobby agreed sombrely. "I do like them nice girls."

She'd been meaning to heckle him a little, but he'd taken her comment seriously, it seemed. "You had a nice little girl, back in the day."

"Gloria was a nice girl," Bobby agreed, with a smile. "I was so awful to her." He stopped smiling.

"A new girl, a new chance," Parker replied.

Bobby didn't look comforted. "Are they an item?"

"Not as I heard it," she replied.

"That is something to be thankful for, I should think," he said. "She still has a chance..." A sudden devious smile appeared on his face and he bit his lip. "I could phone her up and explain all the ways we're through. Sabotage, exciting sabotage."

Parker stared at him openly. "That's not a nice thing to say, Bobby," she told him.

"He's not a nice man," Bobby replied.

"He's your brother," she furthered.

"He's slightly," he tilted his hands, smiling, after a fashion, "off his beam." Dinah started singing "What a Diff'rence A Day Makes", and Bobby looked at the floor, suddenly miserable. He'd been all warming up to the sabotage idea, too. Found it really enticing-like. "I'm an idiot, idiot, idiot," he muttered, smacking the heel of his palm to his forehead. "You cannot allow this, Robert Joseph. He is _not_ okay."

"He's says he's trying to change," Parker put in, trying to be seen to do the right thing, at least.

"He says a lot of things. He says he tries to do our parents justice. He says their love wasn't a wasted effort. He says all things are deserving."

"You know we're not really related, Bobby," Parker told him.

Bobby frowned, eyes moving to hers. "I suppose he said that, too?"

"Actually, no; science said that," she replied, smiling at him. No, it hadn't been Lyle first. He'd only conceded to the truth when no other course of action was available.

"Boy will say anything, that'un," Bobby told her. "No offence, he's my brother, sure, but he's been pretty desperate lately."

"What do you mean?" She couldn't laugh at the 'boy' thing; this was serious.

"The lies, the truth; it's always a game. A delicate game. He hasn't been in control of the game much these days. It's been getting out of his hands. It hurts him. Frightening."

Parker shook her head. "I'm sorry, Bobby, but I don't follow. Why are you saying all this? He's your brother; he's _you_! Why are you telling _me_ this?"

"He's going to get in trouble, if he's not careful. And not just himself, either. Other people. People we care about; people you care about."

"He's got me now. Nothing bad's gonna happen, you'll see," Parker said, though she wasn't exactly sure why she did. She meant to stab the creep in the back in the end anyway. She supposed she was doing the right thing, though, trying to win Bobby to her side. This was right. But still, it felt odd, almost wrong. It was strange that she'd think so, _feel_ so, but for some reason, it just played out that way. He had that power over her. She was in the process of breaking the hold he had on her, but she wasn't there yet.

Bobby smiled suddenly, perfectly sunny, all of a sudden. "Would you look at that gadget!" he chimed, of the fridge. "It's so dinky! I must investigate, madam." He jumped up out of his seat and dashed over to the fridge. "What's that you say, sir?" he asked it.

Parker took the chance to take a sip of her not-so-hot coffee whilst Bobby was preoccupied with the cool, "dinky" fridge. What a child.

Bobby returned with a plate of sandwiches and placed them down on top of the papers. "The refrigerator thought you might be hungry," he said.

She glanced at the sandwiches, wondering if she dare risk it. "Smart guy," she replied, reaching for one of the sandwiches. Heck, she had to trust the creep sometime, didn't she?

Bobby frowned at the plate of sandwiches, glancing at Parker suddenly. He pointed to one of the sandwiches. "What is that?" He sounded worried.

She glanced at what he was pointing at. "Alfalfa. Bean sprouts. They're nice."

Bobby continued staring at the alfalfa as though it might try something.

Parker grinned. Definitely a bumpkin. "Not hungry?" she asked.

Bobby looked around for a clock, then remembered Lyle had a watch and consulted that. "I'm fine," he said.

Parker made a face. "You can eat something, you know. Even if it _is _past dinner." Seven-forty, according to Lyle's watch.

"I'm not hungry," Bobby told her, though she had a feeling he just wasn't up to defying convention. Even if he _was_ hungry, he'd never eat anything. She was a guest, that was fine, but _he_ was not, and that was not fine. When you had a routine, you stuck to it. His dad had probably been pretty strict about that.

"You know, diabetics have to maintain their blood sugar levels," she said. "If you need to eat something, it's best that you do so before you get into trouble."

"Honestly not hungry," he said, though it came off as slightly robotic.

"Bobby, your father isn't here. This is _your_ home, not his. He can frankly go to Hell."

"And you are my sister," Bobby said. "You have my best interests at heart. I understand. I'm still not hungry."

"I do care about you," she agreed, though the way he'd said it had really put her off her food, as though he was saying one thing but meaning another, though she understood he hadn't actually meant to make her feel bad. He'd just been down, thinking about his adoptive father, who hadn't been the greatest dad. She'd have repeated that she wasn't actually his sister, but she didn't want to push him away. She needed him to trust her.

The CD had come to the last track a while ago and now the silence threatened to become painful, awkward.

"You can't always trust him, Miss Parker," Bobby told her suddenly. "He'll try to manipulate you and those around you. You have to anticipate his actions and keep in mind he doesn't always have all the answers. Far from it. He believes..."

"He purports to love me, I know," she added helpfully. "I don't believe it, but I've given up arguing with h-"

"He believes you were once his child, in another life," Bobby interrupted.

Parker stared at him, taken aback. He believed _what_?

"Do you understand? You were his daughter, his child."

"He's really not sane, is he?"

"I do believe in reincarnation, but I'm not entirely sure that we've known one another before," Bobby answered.

"You... believe?" She felt lame, suddenly. Oh, why hadn't she anticipated this? Bobby was the romantic one, after all. Of course it would have been _his_ belief before it had also become Lyle's.

"The lady. She was his partner then, too. Your mother."

"The lady?" Parker asked, struggling to catch up with the conversation. Did he mean Emily? Lyle had said she'd been the one who'd given him the friendship ring. Lyle thought Emily and he had been married in another life and she'd been their... daughter? She didn't know whether to laugh or despair. Could he get any crazier? If she'd known him once before, no way would she ever agree to having anything to do with him a second time around. No way!

"I am not certain of her name," Bobby said. "The one who gave him this ring." He held up his hand, touched the friendship ring he wore.

"Emily. She's called Emily," Parker supplied. "She is Jarod's sister."

Bobby crossed his arms, apparently unimpressed. "It would have to be, wouldn't it?" he replied darkly.

"He _swore_ to me he only wanted what was best for her!" Parker told him, injecting a note of disappointment to her tone. "That he wasn't trying to start anything with her!"

Bobby frowned, for a moment, staring strangely out of the corner of his eye the way he did sometimes, but soon nodded. "You can't expect him to hold true to his word, though, Miss Parker. She is his wife from another life. They were in love. He loved her. Perhaps he could love her in this life, too? Perhaps she could save him? He's got to risk it, hasn't he? He has no other choice. If he ever truly wants to feel something for another human being, it's going to be her. This is what he believes. It has to be her!"

"I presume he's yet to break the news to her?"

"You presume correctly," Bobby agreed.

Parker patted his arm, thinking how absurd the gesture was, and even more so that she should be the one to initiate contact, but she followed it through, trusting herself not to mess up too badly. "Don't worry," she told him. "The second he can't stop himself from spitting it out, she'll be hitting the door in a big hurry. She won't be impressed, you can believe me. She knows he expects to have everything he wishes for and she'll surely know that if she so much as hesitates he'll take her pause as consent, and that'll be the beginning of the end for her, just as it was for his wife, Che Ling. They've had run-ins before. She's not a naive child. It's a tight rope to walk, but I'm certain she wouldn't even attempt it if she didn't have it under control; if she didn't have at least a dozen contingency plans. Contingency plans for contingency plans. She used to be a journo. A reporter."

"He is an Empath. He can entrap people. I would not be so sure he has not already done so with this girl."

"She's _Jarod_'s sister!" Parker reminded him. She wouldn't just let herself be taken in by a monster such as Lyle, a monster who'd killed her brother and made a good go of going after her too, though, in the end, he hadn't succeeded. Yet.

"Merely being Jarod's sister does not make her infallible," Bobby said seriously. "The Pretender is not infallible himself."

Parker almost asked what he meant by that, but refrained, at the last minute. "As much as I can see where you're coming from, Bobby, I just don't see how we can do anything about it. I don't know how to contact her, so unless you know, we're screwed, ki-"

"Lyle knows," Bobby interrupted. "I may be able to uncover something."

Parker shrugged. "Why do you care?" she asked casually.

"Does it not bother you, Miss Parker?" he returned.

"Sure, but-"

"She may have once been my wife," Bobby cut her off once more. "I can't simply stand by and watch that man corrupt her and destroy her!"

"Even if she was, in some crazy past life, she's not your wife any longer," Parker pointed out.

Bobby deflated. "You are right," he said, with narrowed eyes, but lifted his chin. "I am still in a position to stop a bad thing happening. I am obliged to make the _right_ choice. Save her, as it were."

"Why do you care?" Parker repeated. Hell, he sure had some massive complex, believed he was something fantastic wonderful. No kidding. "I heard you were a bit of a brat, to be honest," she revealed. "You don't care about anyone but yourself."

"That is true," Bobby replied, "but as it's Lyle, I'll go out on a limb and sacrifice a little. That man really irks me."

"Right," Parker said. Wow, messed-up didn't even begin to cover it. Did Lyle know Bobby felt this way about him? That he hated him so much? Maybe he did, and that was exactly why he'd let Bobby take centre stage. Because he felt he was doing the wrong thing with Emily and felt the kid would set him straight, feel compelled to right his wrong. Or maybe he was just his usual asshole self, and the same old commitment-phobe he'd always been. Maybe all of his talk was just that, pretty, lying talk.

He'd been trying his damnedest to fool her and she'd bloody well fallen for it. She'd _fallen_ for it!

She felt sick in her stomach. She didn't know what to do. Would it be okay if she just laid into Bobby right here and beat the pulp out of him; would that be the most wise course of action? Probably not, she thought.

Bobby leaned close suddenly and whispered a number in her ear. She had the painful urge to smack him over the face, but held back. Just.

His eyes were shining brightly, as though she might just up and gift him a gold star for good work, but all she wanted to do was shoot him. He just made her feel sick.

"What if he's serious about this girl?" she asked, just to stick it to him, but she did it in a good way, a legit way, pretending to be the good big sister, still sticking up for Lyle, for her brother's inherent integrity. She _had_ to believe it was there, right? "What if he really means to do her right, and we screw it up for him? What then, Bobby? How are we gonna fix that?"

Bobby frowned. "The probability is low," he replied. "But in the event we are mistaken, we will take a subtle approach. I believe it would be best for you to befriend this woman, the sister of Jarod. She will be more inclined to listen to you, to share with you, if she likes you. You can be a very likeable person, I know this. There is much to like about you, in reality. I believe you can succeed, if you are serious about trying, Miss Parker. You can be this girl's friend. You can help her to help herself."

Parker shook her head. "She probably hates me, Bobby. I'm the one who's trying to drag her brother back to Hell! Does that sync in your head, kiddo?"

"She does not want to hate you. She does not want to hate anyone. That is not to say she wants to _like_ you, either, but it's a sight more encouraging, don't you think? If you want to hate someone else, you become bitter to certain aspects of life. And one is always the beginning. One, and more follow after. You eat away at your own potential to live, for quality of life, when you buy into the bitterness game, the hatred game. You must not be _angry_. Know that it is wrong, do not react with anger and violence. These things stilt you." He put a hand to his chest. His left hand, because Bobby was always left-handed. "As they have I, and Lyle."

"How can you _not_ hate people like him?"

"And so they win."

"Oh, shut up! _Shut up!_ You're a kid, for fuck sake! _What would you know?_"

Bobby frowned at her, actually trying to work out what he'd done wrong, how she'd come to her little rant, and Parker realised she'd stuffed up. Oops.

She really should have kept her mouth shut, she supposed.

"You need to calm down," Bobby merely replied calmly. "If you allow your anger to have free reign, you lose sight of your options. You become indentured in one direction, one track. You may pass up a very valuable opportunity for action and not even know it."

A proper little soldier, she thought, taking steadying breaths. Damn, but she was worked up. A proper little graduate of Raines's brainwashing, eh. Or did it go deeper than that?

"You're not a little pissed?" she asked, to see if she couldn't stir him up a little. "This guy's messing with your wife, Bobby? Your _wife_!"

"She is not my wife," Bobby told her. "She is, however, another person. She is capable of making her own choices, though sometimes she may need a helping hand, just as we all, invariably, do. She is not beholden to me, and I am not beholden to her. It is right that she have every opportunity to be the best person she can be, to pursue the best future that she can, but I do not expect anything to come of it, I do not expect anything to come my way, if we _can_ help her. I am merely pleased to know that the world is not all falling down about us, if you can believe that. That some of the falling down is countered by the getting back up. It does sound... suspicious, but it is not. I would be most pleased to be offered a similar assistance."

"I'd be pissed," Parker offered casually.

"It is, unfortunately, an endless cycle. Repeating itself infinitum. If you let it." He frowned. "Would you like a glass of fruit juice?"

Frowning at the strange question, she shook her head.

"A coffee, then?"

"I'm good."

"I am going to have to go now," Bobby said, walking over to the fridge. "Do look after yourself." He opened the fridge and huffed. "Where? Ugh!"

"Actually," Parker piped up, "if you're getting yourself a juice, I could really go with a glass of orange juice right now," she said. She didn't really want any juice, but she'd felt like giving him a prod in the right direction. Hopefully, he wouldn't suspect Bobby had been plotting behind his back.

Lyle took the bottle of orange juice out of the fridge and looked at the kitchen table, where the sandwiches were. "Are you eating those?" he asked.

Parker shrugged, walking to the table and picking up the plate. She passed it to him. "Not hungry. One was enough, thanks. Bobby was convinced the 'refrigerator' was talking to him. Funny kid. Real funny kid."

"Yeah. He is a bit, isn't he?" He glanced at his watch, frowned again. "What did you guys all talk about?"

"Well, for starters, he was all enamoured of the fridge. He really has trouble staying consistent, if you catch my meaning. His mind tends to wander."

"He does that when he's uncomfortable. He tries to keep the conversation moving. Back in high school, the school wasn't too pleased with his people skills. That's the most of the reason William was brought into the picture, to help assist him with his people skills. The school wouldn't have had him back, otherwise. Conversation is good; preferably meaningless, inconsequential conversation. People aren't likely to take offence to stuff like that. They may think you slightly nuts, but hey, you can't win 'em all, can you? Yeah, it's part of the behavioural conditioning. Yap, yap, yap. You can tell it worked, right? I like to run my mouth myself." He laughed. "Right, you wanted..." He trailed off and went to fetch two glasses down from the cupboard.

He passed her a glass of juice, which she took. "What do you think, he's a decent kid?"

"He makes me uncomfortable. I don't know whether he's going to flip and attack, or what."

"That's no good. Did he say something specifically to make you uncomfortable?"

"Not specifically, but he kept..." She diverted her eyes in demonstration.

"Yes, unfortunately."

"But it was worse when he looked at me," she shared.

Lyle looked a little sad. "I guess you two just don't get on. I thought you may, you know... Well, I had hoped, but..." He sighed. "You were very brave to try."

She almost spluttered, or threw her drink on him. His patronising made her want to chuck her guts up. She drank some of her juice, feeling her stomach churn.

"I was thinking we might try..." He fell short.

"Successive personalities aren't the same as alternate ones, Lyle," she told him, feeling even more like throwing up. "Integration is a vastly different matter for an Empath. And highly dangerous, I wholly imagine."

Lyle touched her arm and the nausea disappeared at once. Once it was gone, she actually missed it, actually longed for it. She wasn't happy about him touching her, or even hanging out like this, really, and now she couldn't even feel disgusted about it, _really_ feel disgusted.

The feeling didn't return when Lyle took his hand back. He'd flipped a switch somehow. She felt like throttling him, but no lingering pangs of nausea. Just cold, hard anger. "Why would you want to integrate with that crazy anyway?" she asked.

Lyle didn't make comment on her attack on Bobby, but said, "It would be beneficial to face up to my past and work on moving on from that, I think. To begin with. To do that properly, I would need Bobby's cooperation."

"Have you talked about this with Brown or your Tower therapist?"

"Jenny. No, I have not. I haven't discussed it with anyone. Only you, just now. I'm thinking about it, but I'm still not sure."

"And how will integrating with Bobby help you?"

"I don't want this..." He pressed a hand to his heart. "It's complicated. I just know I've got to start being honest with myself. For my own sake as much as anyone else's. It's _important_."

"Well, if you think it's what's needed – go for it," she returned.

"You'll-"

"Yeah. I'll stick with you," she said, before he could ask.

"If I do decide to do this, Mel, I'd very much like you to look out for yourself. Not for me, by goodness, no. And for the others. For Reagan, and Silvie and Debbie. For the kids. I do _not_ know what might happen. Could you do that for me, sweetie?"

_I could shoot you right here, right now_, she thought darkly, incensed that he'd even _dare_ to call her by that name, her name, or by some cutsie endearment like 'sweetie', but merely nodded. "Of course."

"You're not happy," he said.

She almost bared her teeth, almost scowled at him. But that would be giving herself away, so she just said, "It sounds too much like tempting Fate, if you ask me. I... You've been trying, and it's paid off, hasn't it? Little by little. I like how things are between us now. I don't want you to go back to being... distant and unapproachable and downright repulsive. I could hardly stand to look at you, back then. To be in the same room as you."

"I am sorry for that, Sis. But we can't go back in time, and we've got to learn somehow."

"Yes we do," she heard herself agree.

He frowned, scruffing up his hair for absolutely no reason. "Do you think it's worth a go?" He reached to touch her hair, but stopped himself before he did so.

"If it's gonna help you," she said sensibly.

"It _could_."

She narrowed her eyes, unnerved at the way he was just watching her, waiting for her to speak, presumedly as though her opinion could mean anything to him, or he wanted her to think it could. But she wasn't glaring at him, she was thinking about the decision he had to make, the decision ultimately only he could make. She was being the good sister. That was the only way she could get through this, by reminding herself that she was only doing her job, and that she _could_. It looked like it was working. She was no longer bound to him, no longer _in love_ with him, or whatever it was she'd been anyway. There was barely even a trace of it left.

She was _so_ over him. Hanging out with him, talking to him, was just this great waste of time. She could be doing anything else. And she'd enjoy it a Hell of a lot more, too!

"Who's gonna be helping you with this, anyway? You've gotta find someone trustworthy, whoever it ends up being. Who knows how wrong this thing could go, otherwise."

"I have someone in mind," he said.

"Are they trustworthy?" She peered at him intently.

"Mmm. Moderately."

"Moderately's not good enough. You have to be one hundred percent sure, Lyle. You've got to know for sure they're on your side. You don't want them making it worse."

"I don't see how they could..." He sighed, letting the rest of that thought go. "You're right, though. But if... if I'm onto a good thing, what do you think?"

"It's gonna be a lot of hard work, and it's gonna hurt. Hard work always hurts. Hell, it pays off in the end, but it _always_ hurts. You think you'd be up for that? What do you think your chances of winning this thing are?" She frowned. "If you're doing this for someone else; to impress me or Russell, or anyone else, if it's not for _you_, it'll fall through and fuck up. You do understand that?"

"Sure," he replied easily.

She wasn't so sure he gave enough of a damn to even think about what she was saying. Yeah, he was doing this for someone else, for himself, but because he thought it'd look good in front of someone else, she was convinced. And that someone else was probably her. Look at her, getting all sisterly, hanging out and having all these heart-to-hearts. He was probably loving it, the freak! That old feeling of nausea started to creep back in, but she hung onto it, she didn't let it leak out, she was quick to hide it, not to betray it on her face. She _needed_ it to help her win this battle.

Lyle glanced at his watch. "Well, I'll give it some good thought and we'll come back to this conversation at a later date, I think. It's time you were off home." He indicated the kitchen table, messy and strewn with all kinds of stuff. "I have work to do. Plenty of stuff to take my mind off my troubles. I think I'll just let that simmer in the background for a while. Perhaps the old subconscious will have the answer. You want a coffee before you go?"

"I'm good without," she said, _so_ glad to be leaving. "Still standing, as they say." She forced a laugh and walked with him to the front door, her heart pounding madly, anticipating her escape with great delight.

She stopped at the door so Lyle could unlock it and open it, but when he finally got it open and she saw who was standing on the step, she felt her heart sink, wondering how long this little drama was going to hold her up.

"I'm here alone," Silvie told her dad, holding up her hands. "Don't make me kick your butt. What do you say, just let me in?"

Lyle frowned. "I'd kick _your_ butt, girl, not the other way round. What you talkin' about?"

She laughed, her eyes sparkling with challenge. "You think so?"

"Know so," he replied calmly. He wasn't rising to the bait tonight. He sighed. "Oh, come in!"

She lifted her chin proudly and flashed him a winning smile, stepping inside and navigating her way past the two of them waiting at the door.

Lyle glanced softly at Parker. "Don't worry about me," he said quietly. "Enjoy the rest of your evening. I'll manage somehow. Always do. You just do the same. I'll see you... when I see you."

Silvie had made a beeline for the kitchen and was probably already busy making coffee. Parker didn't like being in the hallway alone with Lyle, didn't like him standing so close or the carefree, thoughtless way he stood near her. She didn't like the way he looked at her now. He wasn't her brother, he wasn't Noah. He could never be her real brother; would always be some other guy. She just couldn't trust his motives.

She thought he might touch her arm, the way he had earlier, in the kitchen, but he didn't. He didn't even try. She worried, for a second or two, that she'd somehow let on that she didn't want him touching her, but then she stopped caring. She'd rather have dived under a bus, frankly. She was through putting up with his shit and lying to herself. At least, for tonight.

He didn't hug her.

"Night." She couldn't get out the door quick enough.

"Night," he replied, and closed the door. Didn't wait to see her off to her car, or any of that crap.

As she walked back to her car, she was convinced he'd gotten the measure of her. It was obvious, the way he hadn't pushed the brotherly crap. He hadn't insisted on walking her to her car – to make sure she got there safely, though she'd only parked across the road, by the park – he'd merely echoed her parting farewell, hadn't elaborated or tried to jazz it up. He probably felt completely used right now, hard-done-by, hurt. She personally hoped he did.

The only thing she didn't like about the end to tonight was Silvie turning up. Now Silvie would have to deal with his foul mood. She was almost tempted to stay, to sit in her car for a while and see how things played out between father and daughter, but then she let it go. She _had_ to let it go. She was caring again. She was wasting her time thinking about that loser, no-hoper. About Silvie, but also about Lyle. They were family; she couldn't think about one without thinking about the other. Not when they were together, anyway. She had no choice but to leave. So that was what she did, the feeling of nausea and unease bright and hard like a jewel inside her chest.

.

When he came back into the kitchen, Silvie was tidying up the table. She'd put all the papers together and stacked the books and exercise books on top, next to the laptop. Pens and pencils and rubber neatly waiting next to the laptop, too. The water was boiling in the kettle on the stove. She sighed and relaxed her posture, taking a good look at him. "You're turning into Parker's twin," she said, moving over and prodding his arm. "You need to _eat_."

"I do eat."

"More," she said stubbornly.

"Mmm-hm." He touched her cheek.

She didn't so much as blink. "I have been looking after myself," she said. "Ourselves."

"I really shouldn't ask. I mean, I _should_, but I shouldn't. Not after I'd said I wouldn't. It's-"

"We're fine. We're all fine," she said, before he could enquire. She was fine, Broots was fine; Jethro was fine. They were all fine.

"Oh, darling!" He stepped back from her sharply, wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms and hold her, to hold his child, to reassure her that she had nothing to worry about, but he couldn't do that. He couldn't do that, so he withdrew, retreated. He couldn't do this to her. She'd come here because of him; he'd hurt her so badly, and still she'd come. It hadn't been easy reconnecting, making it to this, to how they'd been before Jethro had been born, but Silvie had been insistent, always. Just as she was now.

He'd been wrong to encourage her, he knew now. Very wrong. And now it was too late, too late to change the outcome, but perhaps he could still help her. If he could just get her to see that it would be in her best interest to back away, too; to _believe_ it, perhaps he could save her still. Save himself. Still be a dad to her. She'd have to leave, but she'd be safer there than here, whenever there turned out to be. Until someone ended the Centre, she'd be safer anywhere they weren't.

It was time to start being her dad, Jethro's grandfather, and if that hurt, then good, tough, he'd gotten himself into this when he'd made her, together with her mom. And he _wanted_ to be her dad, even if that meant letting her go. He wanted to care about her, _for_ her, without having to justify it to himself, to remind himself he was her dad and that was just what parents did and it was totally okay.

It hurt him that he could stop and rationalise it, even if he knew it was the right thing to do; even if he knew you had to consider all options or else you'd miss the ball when it came rolling your way. The last time he'd done that, the last time he'd weighed up the 'for's and 'against's in his mind, he'd walked out on her and left her to be mistreated at the hands of the people who'd screwed up so many other children's lives, including his twin sister's and, in a way, his own. At least the beginning of it. But maybe he had to accept it, his ability to be so cold sometimes. Maybe he had to let go of the hurt he felt and clear up some of that confusion and make room for other emotions.

It was a horrible thought, as it was, at that point in time, but it quite possibly had its merits.

And it wasn't just with his daughter that he'd been messing up. He'd done it with Courtland too. He hated the guy. He really did. Whenever he thought about him, he got so angry it actually hurt. He wanted to bawl or go over there and yell nonsensically at the guy, or just waste him. His anger wasn't helping those kids Courtland had hurt, and it never would because they were beyond help now. They weren't angry anymore, were they? They were dead. He'd never even known them. He was benefiting no-one by getting so worked up, he knew. He needed to learn to let go of his anger whilst still keeping Courtland's actions in sight, his moral compass firmly in mind. It wouldn't do to trust the guy when he said he'd look after Reagan, of course.

He had to let go of his hurt and anger over those fifty-three people who'd died when Noah had escaped. They were dead. Their lives had taken a different path. He had to let go now. If he couldn't, he'd never truly learn to help anyone else, or even himself.

It would have been a relief, in a way, to say, yes, he'd die for his children any day, for the people he loved, but he didn't know. Right now, he didn't know what he'd do. He could only speculate and that just hurt him more, so why speculate. He still had work to do, in this life. Perhaps he wouldn't die for them, even given the opportunity, but perhaps they'd understand, if he could just himself.

Silvie's eyes lost a little of their sparkle and she slumped a little, tears welling in her eyes.

That hurt him too, but he couldn't do anything about it. How could he explain to her that he needed her to go, to leave, because it wasn't safe? He'd said it; they'd talked about it. So many times. And it had never really impressed on her. She still thought they could take on the world together and what happened happened; they'd always still be a family. But now she had a family of her own, children of her own. She had a chance. A chance he'd passed up, a chance she wouldn't get again, _they_ wouldn't get again – Jethro and this new baby – in this lifetime, if she chose unwisely, if she allowed herself to chose unwisely.

Sometimes all you could do was take the pain and not let the anger take you. Just take it. It didn't go on forever. You had good days.

Or else you had to compromise. And that compromise came out of your heart, your soul. It took pieces out of you, until the person you were wasn't the person you'd been, but you could hardly even care, could hardly care about anything or anyone but yourself: always, yourself. You became a machine.

Yeah, he felt like a bad, bad parent, but nobody had ever said it would be easy. He had to be a human being as well as a parent, and a human being would not lead another into ruin with a smile, would not offer a hug and say it's gonna be fine, making up stories and belying the truth, the true danger, when something could be done, something that wasn't fear but was the opposite of fear and panic and badly thought out decisions.

Silvie was an adult. He had to let her be one; had to let her live. Her own life, not the life he wanted her to live for his own reasons, to assure himself he'd been the good parent. He'd been a frankly appalling dad, but he wasn't throwing it all to the wind yet. He was trying to make amends, to his baby girl and to himself. He didn't want to spend his whole life making mistake after bloody mistake. Was he not an adult? Not a robot, but an adult who'd lived a while and could look back and make a good guess based on something more than It felt like the right thing to do at the time, honest. When was it finally going to set in, he had to start believing in himself – because it was okay. It _was_. When he needed help, he'd ask for it. When he was capable of doing without, he'd do without, and everything would be okay anyway.

Wasn't he holding himself and all those around him back from their true potential by lingering in this twilight, in this half-stage, refusing to move on, too attached to whatever this was? Holding himself back from his destiny, whatever that might one day turn out to be, if he made the right choices, or the most-right choices, even when they sometimes felt wrong. Didn't everything feel wrong before it felt right, or at least felt unfamiliar? And unfamiliar often translated as uncomfortable, and uncomfortable as wrong. That was the way of life, but now he had to change, to become more trusting of his judgement, had to let go of the things holding him back from making the right choices, the anger and regret, the things debilitating him.

He could never accuse or lay it on Silvie that she was debilitating him, but he could lay that on himself. _He_ was debilitating _her_, and facilitating her debilitating herself and those around her, her new family, her children and fiance. He was always to say 'it's okay, baby, I'm your dad' whenever she needed justification, to keep her holding on in some slim hope, but how great was he at being her dad when he could do that? He just let her down.

He could say it a thousand times, could say how much he believed in her, but it wouldn't be helping at all if she didn't really believe in herself, or believed in the things most unhealthy for her, both physically, mentally and spiritually. It would just be hurting her saying he believed in her then, in her capability to hurt herself. He'd played that game long enough.

But she didn't yet understand. She was his baby girl, his child. He was her dad. She couldn't understand why he was backing away from her, why he couldn't be there to catch her if she should fall. She couldn't see how sometimes it was just like waiting for her to fall, so he could catch her when she did, and make out everything was okay because he'd been there, when it wasn't okay, it wasn't okay because she'd still fallen.

If she never learned to take responsibility for the way her own life went and come to terms with the good as well as the bad, she'd turn out just as messed-up as him, never understanding why and feeling so out of it, hopeless to it all. She'd turn into a victim and a complete mess and maybe even think to hurt herself, to end it all, thinking it her only course of action, and how could he go along with that?

"Darling, you are a woman now. More than a child. You have seen more, done more. You are capable of more, if you can just believe it. I'm not _trying_ to hurt you, but this will hurt. Some things always hurt. It is a part of living. You know things can't always be like this, can't always be how they've been these past few years. Please try to understand." He couldn't help the tears that stung his eyes. She was staring at him so incomprehensibly, not even _trying_ to hear what he was saying now, not even trying to understand. He'd pulled away from her, _hurt_ her, and he was going on as if it was okay, as if, if he could just get these last words out, it would all be okay, in the end. In her eyes, he was thinking only of himself.

"Saskia, you are my child! I would never do anything to purposefully hurt you. To damage your spirit. I would only help you be good to you. Being good to yourself is about being good to the universe around you, my darling. I can let go of you because I know you're going to go on; you're going off into your future. I don't want to let go; I'm scared, too, but it is _right_. Please, darling, try; try to understand."

Silvie shook her head, dislodging tears and scattering them across her cheeks, in her hair. It was longer now. It was a while since she'd had it cut. At this length, it reminded him of how she'd worn it as a child. He remembered her, again, as a little one. Just three years old and already without a mother; four and without a father.

"I don't want to hurt you, to hold you back. You have to live now."

"I am living! If you'd bother to look at me, you'd see that. Why won't you even _look_, Dad? Sometimes you're so _stupid_!" Tears rolled down her cheeks. Oh, God, she hated to have to say such things, but he just couldn't take her seriously, could he? Couldn't see things from her point of view? "I'm so mad at you!"

"You have to let go of that," he said. "I can live without you, and you can live without me, too. You'll see."

"You're my _dad_!" she shouted, raising her voice, her eyes wide, hurting. What the Hell was going on inside his head? Was he completely mad? Could he not understand that she wasn't asking for that much, just that he _be_ there? That's all he had to do, because all the rest, she could do that stuff herself; she was a grown-up now. All she needed was for him to be there. It was easy!

"No. No, dear. If you're going to use me as an excuse to mess up your life, then I don't want to be your dad. I do not want to be your dad!" It made perfect sense in his mind, but somehow, Silvie took his words and twisted them around, into something _beyond_ hurtful. He could see her heart break, could see it in her eyes, but she didn't give him the chance to explain.

She fled to the door, pushing past him wildly, and was flying down the hall, tears stoppered up, momentarily forgetting how to work, or afraid to. He turned to watch her go, he hadn't been able to stop himself, but he didn't go after her, he didn't try to explain, to call out.

She was still very much a child in her mind, he realised. And he had really hurt her. He had done something truly unforgivable. She didn't understand. She'd stopped herself from understanding, actually afraid. Whether she was capable of understanding what he'd been trying to say, he couldn't say, all he knew was that he'd fucked up. Once again.

He was neither a good parent nor a good person. He wasn't even sure that he was trying. He wanted so much to feel hurt for his baby girl, for himself for having hurt her so deeply, but he just couldn't allow it. He'd said he wouldn't and so he didn't.

At that moment, he wasn't sure he wouldn't have rather have taken death to this madness.

How could he make amends for this? Would it be wise to do so, if he truly could not get through to Silvie any other way? Would it be better to drive her away and leave her confused and hurt but alive, or should he try to work things out with her, even if it meant giving her a reason to stay, to put herself in further danger?

The answer was simple. He knew what was the _right_ thing to do. And in a perfect world, he'd have had no hesitation in doing so, but this was not a perfect world. Life was looked at as something of an art, a game; reduced to the most understandable constituents that, when combined, often left out great chunks of reality, of truth. In this strange, baffling age, what was he going to do?

No matter what, it would all hurt. He was prepared to take the pain if it got results, but he just couldn't see any favourable results coming out of it any time soon. Maybe he just needed to try harder. Maybe he needed to try harder to reach Silvie and help her see how she really had no choice but to leave Blue Cove; help her see she wouldn't be abandoning him, as such, but giving him a reason to go on living, knowing she would be living her life somewhere out there in the world, knowing she still loved him, even though they hardly ever saw each other.

He tried very hard not to let the pain through, to remain logical, to play the Pretender when they were simply the Pretender, the very best of themselves, in a sense, and the very worst, in another, but he couldn't keep it up. Eventually, it hurt again, and he didn't even want the tears that came along with the pain, didn't want them because he didn't really deserve them, did he? The thing that he was, was he even human? And look at him, feeling bad for himself when he'd hurt Silvie and wiped his hands of having done so. Who was he really hurting for? For his daughter and his terrible behaviour towards her, or for himself? Oh, she'd forced him into it. He'd had no other choice. Wasn't life hard, wasn't the world awful; wasn't it all just so unfair to those who tried and tried?

But it was unfair, or at least unkind, and it did hurt, and he did hurt for himself, but he hurt for his little girl too, and it was all mixed together, the way everything in life, in this universe was, and even though that was how it went, and there were no easy answers to complicated questions, to questions that weren't really questions because they never could be merely questions, or even ever put into words, mere words, there should have been some answers, some conclusions, some lesson to take away. A frigging consolation prize!

But the consolation prize was no consolation, only more pain. Life was pain, it was true, but it wasn't _only_ pain. And he _could_ have let go of it now, could have given it its due, and let it go on its way, could have focussed on the things that weren't pain, but what could that bring but only _more_ pain? What consolation could it bring, knowing he could just set aside his feelings so easily as handy but not essential? How was that even living? How was that even _right_?

He was so confused and the pain wanted none of the complicated questions; it only wanted answers, it didn't even care if they were true or not. It wanted all of his attention, and he felt so very inhuman for denying it for even a moment.

Perhaps he was _stupid_, perhaps it was too hard, perhaps they were all right, they all had good points to make, all of them but him, because he had no right. He was a monster, not a human, and he had no right thinking to converse in the language of human beings. And even if he didn't believe in it, and didn't believe it exclusively theirs, they'd share it with anyone, anyone but him, because he wasn't willing to understand, to even try. He couldn't compromise, couldn't see anything but from his narrow perspective, he thought to play his same old games and make-believe he was playing the same game they were. He had no _right_. The only thing he could get that way was disqualified. And he could just go and play on his own, if he pleased. They couldn't abide him. Just couldn't. Even if they'd wanted to, it was against the rules. And they weren't going to get themselves disqualified because of him. He made _no_ effort, so they wouldn't either.

He felt so distant from the whole world then, he knew he should cut such thoughts out straight away, but they'd already gotten a hold on him and they weren't letting go. He couldn't let them go, must have been. This horrible, horrible pain, this feeling of belonging nowhere, not even in this _life_, must have meant something to him, must have been able to teach him something, or else why would he feel it? He just had to look closely enough and decide if he'd already learnt all he could from that method and was ready to try something different, or if he needed some more practise.

_You're losing it, boy_, he thought to himself. _You're really losing it. This _is_ your life, as it stands. What are you trying to do exactly? Getting ahead of yourself rarely gets you anywhere good, you should know that. On the rare occasion, it's remotely possible, but on the whole, it just sucks. You just don't take these sorts of _stupid_ chances. If you can use your intellect, if you can deduce, for goodness sakes, why not do so! Are you _really_ stupid?_

_But it's not stupid, just because you don't know what might happen. Stupid is when you know something bad will happen for sure. Haven't you a single romantic, faithful bone in your body? Can't you just let go and leave your fate to the universe, to anyone else but yourself? Haven't you ever trusted someone else, haven't you ever fallen in love? What a boring life you must lead. And you shouldn't call yourself "stupid". If you're an idiot, oh, ugh!, wise up quick, but how are you stupid when you know you don't have to be an idiot but acted the fool anyway? You're just purposefully stupid, and that's worse. There, if you want to kick yourself for something, kick yourself for that, stupid._

He could really do this all night. Running in circles in his mind with his pain. And he had, for so many, many years. He'd lived his life that way. Maybe it _was_ time to let it go? But could it really ever make him anything other than heartless, anything other than a monster in the eyes of those around him, in his own eyes?


	3. Chapter 3

Pieces of the puzzle emerged slowly. At least for her, not all at once. Since finding out that his adoptive father sometimes went by Lyle Bartholomew and had worked with a great many "gifted" children for many decades, including Bobby, whom he referred to most often as Robert, she'd learnt to prick up her ears when Lyle said something that sounded vague and unsubstantiated, because the tiniest thing could hint at something much, much larger, could merely be the blip on the radar of a massive undercurrent. She now had quite a few pieces to add to that particular puzzle, in fact. One of those pieces was Darla, whom he'd attended Summer Camp with. Darla who had also been a gifted child, but whom presumably had had nothing on "Robert". The people Bartholomew worked for, the group he headed up, as Team Leader, deferred to Robert as their shining star. One they had, in the end, unfortunately lost. As a consequence, though Bartholomew was a big fan of Sydney (and Sydney quite a supporter of his, in turn), the man detested William Raines, believing it was the psychiatrist's influence that had slowly but surely stolen his son away from him. Of course, he would never admit that it had been his own abusive and neglectful ways that had been the real nail in the coffin for that relationship.

And then there was Bartholomew's colleague and second-in-command, Lewis "Lou" Randolph. And, more importantly for Bobby, Randolph's daughter, Amy Randall – for Amy had been Lyle's room-mate in college in Virginia, and she'd gone onto bigger, brighter things still. She'd turned up to work with her father for a while, as a nurse, which was what she'd studied at university whilst Lyle had studied Computing and Mathematics, and, along the way, she'd devised a cunning plan to show her father just how much she disagreed with his work, and his misplaced affections – by helping three of his "subjects" let free on the world. Understandably, he'd been unhappy about this, and soon after she'd escaped with the three Empaths, she'd gone missing.

For a long time, Parker imagined she'd been murdered. That her father had arranged it, or Bartholomew, all the while presenting a saddened front to the world, along with Cox's parents – grieving over the disappearances of their precious children, taken from them too soon to meet God knew what ends. That, unlikely as it seemed, Lyle may have done it himself. She'd never liked him, not from the start. He'd told her as much, and she'd certainly heard as much in conversation. Everyone liked to believe it was Bobby who'd done it. They always did call him Bobby, though they were meant, she supposed, to call him Robert – Bobby reserved for close friends and family only – only, Bartholomew ended up the only one calling him Robert most of the time, though he should have been the one calling him otherwise.

Bartholomew, in fact, worked for, or contracted for, the government, for the Department of Homeland Security. Another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place the day she'd learned this. Lyle had always seemed distant and reserved, almost gloomy, in regards to Homeland Security, had never made jokes about them, or called them anything other than their actual name, and finally, at last, she knew why. Not so with the FBI, whom he liked to jokingly call the Federal Bureau of Instigation, something he'd allegedly picked up from Bobby, who'd had an awful sense of humour and had actually thought it highly amusing and just that bit rebellious.

And, yes, she'd laughed it off when he'd first mentioned knowing Amy Randall, that they'd been room-mates, but that was before she'd come to understand the bigger picture, before she'd realised that Bobby had been manipulated, poked and prodded a long time before Raines had been called into the picture. And by someone he should have been able to trust to look out for his best interests, too. His own father.

But still, aside from borrowing the Graffitist's label now and then – whenever the Centre acquired a new psych journal with anything of Bartholomew's in it, the tagline beside said article went thus: Bartholomew is a tool – no further jabs were made. Yes, he'd been an abominable father and fairly messed-up himself, to boot, but nothing was ever said in detail; the real anger she'd expected wasn't there, was just hidden away, and if anything, it was always: Mummy and Daddy loved me. That, she found incomparably spooky. Always, it gave her chills. Because it simply wasn't true. Neither of Bobby's parents had really loved him. If anything, they'd loved _using_ him. If anything.

So he was a messed-up boy. Man, really. A messed-up man. And then there was his relationships. They were not encouraging, the ones that had ended badly but without bloodshed, or those that had simply ended with a whole lot of blood and another dead body, another life that would never be repeated, recovered. She could count them on her hands, really. Gloria and Elsie (his adoptive mother), or perhaps Elsie had come first, and then his school friend, Gloria (Plum's mother); the girls in college, Peyton and Ginny (real names Tazu and Chiyo), Lin (otherwise known as Roslin, or Mimi), Che Ling, Sam, Brigitte and now... she wasn't sure. At one point, he'd been making out as though he'd been Plum's children's father, but most people knew he was talking rubbish and was merely saying so to cover for Plum (Jimmy and Gloria's daughter). Then there was talk he was with Frankie, but Cox was into men and no matter how many people said Diana was really Broots (or even Lyle), she'd never believed it; even Fulton hadn't believed that one, and just ask anyone, Fulton _didn't_ like Frankie one iota. Resented him for ascending the Med Space ranks quicker than her by trickery or by trade, but didn't believe him to have murdered his younger sister, Ursula, either, as if she'd know. But Parker didn't hold that against Fulton. The woman was freaky, but at least she didn't hate the whole world (just Raines now, thank goodness, whom she'd married to punish further).

There was always going to be people saying he was playing around with someone, Midori or Lucy or Cherry or Plum, even Sally, or Sally's daughter, Julie, who quite liked him. Or Fulton, whom he'd joked he'd like as a stepmom and was looking forward to spending time with her. He liked to make ridiculous comments about Catherine's glamour and "Cooper's" (Jarod's mother's) general, all-around awesomeness. Like bowties, Margaret was cool. Liked to make dumbass comments to make up for his bad mood when people mentioned he'd really screwed up with Kyle (or how screwed up Kyle had been) – to defend himself by saying he was in love with him, as if anyone could ever buy that. And then, just to stir people up, to smile at them nicely and make "those" eyes at them. Reston had once tried to pick her up, incessantly following her around and making passes at her, but after Lyle had sung "Come On, Boy" for him one Hallowe'en function and added in a cute little "private dance", Reston had fainted clean and given up on that idea altogether. He never hit on her now, and she was glad. He seemed to have more regard for her as a person, too, though he was always wary of her "crazy other half". And then Lyle was always trying to get her to concede to some crazy attraction between them that she refused to believe was there. Whether or not he was her brother, in reality, mattered very little. He was insane and definitely nothing she'd have looked at twice if she'd met him on the street, merry as you please.

But he did have some weird way of getting under her skin, and apparently she wasn't the only one. She'd thought, before she twigged onto the fact that she was his daughter, that he'd had something with Silvie, or even (horror of horrors) with Debbie, too. She'd been thoroughly disturbed by the idea for a long time, but then she'd found out that Silvana was his daughter and entirely uninterested in him that way, that Debbie would never have double-crossed her best friend like that, even if she hadn't had someone else.

He had seemed to know a lot of things he never said that hadn't made sense, but did so now, now that he was an Empath.

And now here she was, standing on his doorstep, staring at the curvy woman standing on the other side of the open door dressed in nothing more than a towel, hair dripping with water from her recent brush with the shower, and a tattoo on the top of her right foot that matched Lyle's perfectly, as if they were a part of some secret club. The woman was obviously Amy.

Inviting her inside, Amy informed her that Lyle was "out someplace" in a voice that suggested she didn't really care where, and introduced herself, at last, as "Jacquelyn". Mystery solved, Parker supposed, hiding her frown at the sight of the bracelet adorning Amy's right wrist, identical to that Lyle often wore and had told her had once been her _real_ brother, Noah's. The air of being in some special club was suffocating, even more so than Lyle and Frankie both having had episodes on Cleary's now old-news true crimes documentary TV show, _True Crimes_; both having had shitty adoptive parents, and being able to converse in Afrikaans and joke about the extreme lameness of the "scary" African branch. In any case, Parker always supposed that was what they were talking about.

Indicating the refrigerator and telling her to make herself at home, Amy left to find something to wear and Parker found a chair to sit down in, wondering just how much Amy didn't _like_ Bobby, or if she considered Lyle a different matter entirely. No, she wasn't his type, but she sure could get chummy with a person fast, and some people just couldn't resist that sort of charm. She had blue eyes, much like Lyle's, wavy, dark hair that fell down her back to brush at the small of her back, and she certainly wasn't some skinny, Barbie type. She had a nice weight, a wholesome solidness to her, and all the right curves. Next to her, Parker actually felt awkward. If they'd ever gone out clubbing together, she knew just whose doorstep the boys would be lining up on, and it wouldn't be hers. Amy was also tanned. Not greatly, but it was there. She wasn't pale like Parker herself, and her smile was crazy intoxicating. If vampires had been real, Parker would willingly have admitted that she quite possible could have believed Amy to be one, with the crazy out-of-nowhere charm the woman exuded.

Even now, with Amy out of the room, Parker was torn between distrusting the woman and the urge to interrogate her further as to Lyle's whereabouts, and just letting all of that go and getting to know her, and being her pal. And that was something she never, ever felt.

Clearly, Amy wasn't your regular girl. She was a high, high-Class Empath. Though her Perception hinted at nothing of the sort, Parker could think of nothing else to explain her sudden endearment to the woman. She never felt this way within the first five minutes of meeting a person, and right now she felt like she just wanted to throw her arms around the woman and hug her the second she appeared in the door.

Thankfully, she was able to refrain, and Amy reappeared, fully dressed – and looking stunning – to pour them both orange juices from the fridge.

It was a long while before Parker realised the real reason she felt so comfortable with this woman, despite her blue, blue eyes that freakily resembled Lyle's: in a lot of ways, her features reminded her of Sydney. Wondering how that had come about, Amy being Randolph's daughter and Randolph looking nothing like Green, she pondered whether or not Amy was wearing contacts to make her eyes that colour, all but the same shade as Lyle's, or if it was merely a part of her Empathic glamour.

No, not likely, as her eyes had been that very same colour in her photograph.

Perhaps Sydney had a sister or a cousin he'd known nothing about, and she was Amy's mother. It was far-fetched, Parker knew, but Amy definitely brought to mind Sydney.

"Do you have any idea when he'll be back?" she asked, later, and Amy shook her head slightly, replying, "No", saying nothing further.

"Have you been together long? It's just that he's never mentioned you to me."

"We're not a couple," Amy answered easily, casually, as if not bothered in the least by this assumption, "just friends. We've known each other a while, I guess. Some years. Funny, he hasn't mentioned you to me either. I guess that's so very him. If it's not plain, simple forgetfulness, it's a dastardly plot to play one another off each other for his own amusement." She laughed, not a mean laugh, but a rich, amused laugh. No, she didn't mean it. Of course not. She never would, would she.

Her voice wasn't what Parker would have imagined, either. Wasn't as girly as she'd have pegged it, she supposed.

"I'm kidding, of course. He's just a very odd boy. Very odd. Strange preoccupations and pastimes, I suppose you'd say. The very strangest. I've never been a big numbers girl, I guess, but he just adores them. You can see his little eyes light up whenever there's some complicated mathematical problem to be solved." She shook her head. "I'll never understand that, but at least it shows he's not entirely dull in the upstairs – as awkward as he is around _real_ people. No, I'm not taking a jab, merely pointing out an observation. He used to be very, very bad at conversation. He just could not do light, chatty conversation. Could not, under any circumstance. Invariably, he was at the ready with a frown and that little spark in his eye waiting to be ignited, just _waiting_ to solve some terrible problem. That's when he was most happy – right away from the real world."

"I'm his sister, actually," Parker told her. "We're twins. His twin sister."

Amy met her pronouncement with a warm smile. "Splendid."

Parker didn't know what to make of her comment, but didn't smile back. She wasn't frowning, that was true, but she didn't smile back, merely left her expression as was.

"I should see about starting on supper," Amy said, at last. "You'll be starved, of course. It's been a long day for all. And this weather! Gosh, this weather! The _heat_!"

"How long are you staying?" Parker asked, standing up as the other woman did.

"Oh, not long, I should imagine. He'll want me off and gone, no doubt. Something will have come up, some girl, perhaps. I don't like to see him fretful. I can never quite trust him when he's in one of those moods. He's always doing something; just won't settle down like a proper good boy. There's _always_ something." She began bustling about, collecting this and that and starting on the meal-making. "Back when we where attending U o V, he was... _obsessed_, massively obsessed, with this lab where he was working some nights. It had all of this fantastic equipment, you can just imagine. The very latest. And he was... ridiculously focussed on whatever it was he actually did there. I didn't ask. I'll admit, I was almost afraid to ask, at the time, but, as with all things, it passed. Just a phase, I guess. We all have them."

Amy washed the potatoes she'd finished peeling under cold running water and set them on the draining board and went to collect a knife from the drawer, cutting them into even pieces on the breadboard: the smallest in halves, and the bigger ones in thirds or quarters.

"Obsessed in what way?" Parker asked, her interest piqued.

"Oh, he wasn't looking after himself, you know. All of that... nonsense! I do think he was taking some new sort of medication too, and quite possibly, on top of that, some nasty illicit drugs. He always looked very raggedy. And tired; very, very tired. We hardly saw each other. It was always that he was going out when I was coming home, or I was going out when he was just getting in. It wasn't much of a friendship, really. More of an arrangement, I think. I was forever leaving him messages on little scraps of paper or on his funny little tape recorder. To think of it now, it seems quite comical, but in those days, it was anything but. It was very stressful for me, worrying about where he was, if he was going to come home or if I'd be having a visit from some nice, young men in uniform instead. Oh, I don't miss those days, I can tell you."

"It sounds like it," Parker agreed, watching Amy cut up the parsnips skilfully and add them to the pot on top of the potatoes. Amy left the pot at the sink and walked to the fridge to get some celery and green beans from the crisper, leaving Parker to ponder what Amy had said. If Amy was telling the truth, it sounded as though they hadn't had much time to start a relationship, much less keep one going.

"Did you keep in contact after university?" she asked, once Amy had set the pot on the stove to cook, and Amy frowned.

"Well, no," she replied honestly. "We lost touch for a while, but, in the end, we bumped into one another again." She laughed. "I'm still not rightly sure if that was a good thing or a bad. I guess only time will tell."

"And now here you are, and he's nowhere to be found!" Parker commented humorously.

"Yes," Amy agreed, but her tone wasn't that of amusement.

"You're worried about him," Parker guessed. Yet _again_, Lyle managed to rope someone in to caring about him, somehow, someway.

"He means well, I suppose, but he's not the most stable person you will ever meet. He has his weaknesses – and they get to him!"

"I couldn't agree with you more," Parker replied, and Amy suddenly fixed her with an assessing eye, reminding Parker that this woman was a nurse.

"You're alright, jamila?" she asked, dropping her sophisticated, together air in favour of gentle questioning.

Parker nodded, unsure, all of a sudden, how to respond. Amy was clearly worried about her. "Yes," she managed to say, wondering just how much Amy knew about her "friend".

"Would you like a coffee, perhaps?" Amy asked, suddenly seeming to perk up, as if nothing at all had bothered her, as if she was perfectly fine, and had always been so.

Parker couldn't quite process the swift changes in the other woman's demeanour, disoriented by it all, but got it together enough to reply, "I wouldn't mind one."

Watching Amy busy with the coffee, her back to her, Parker wondered if Lyle had hurt her somehow; if her concerns rose from something real and visceral. She wouldn't have put it past him in the past, and, as much as it confused her to think of someone hurting Amy, she realised she wouldn't put it past him this very moment. If she asked and Amy said, 'yes, he did hurt me', she wouldn't try to deny it at all. She'd believe it, all of it.

It wasn't until then that she began to worry herself. Emily was a nice person, a good person, just like Amy. She worried that Lyle might hurt Emily, who'd never done anything – _anything_ – to hurt him; worried that Emily wouldn't hold it against him if he apologised for fear of making it worse, for fear of stilting his "progress". He could really hurt that girl, if he wanted to, mess her up good.

At that moment, coffee sounded good. Better than good: it sounded like heaven!

"What did he do at the lab?" she asked suddenly, surprising even herself with the odd question.

"Security. He was one of those security types who make sure everything's hunky dory whilst the place is closed for business."

"Sounds a bit boring," Parker admitted.

"Oh, but you can bet your bottom dollar the boy was up to something at that place. He was there for a purpose. I remember, when he spoke to the police about those two young women who'd been murdered, he never even mentioned having worked at the place. Stayed right away from mentioning the place."

"He told you what he spoke to the police about?" Parker asked, sounding more curious than she meant to.

Amy nodded, turning to pass her a mug of hot, steaming coffee and leaning back against the kitchen sink with her own mug clasped in her hands, warming her fingers. "Yes. He asked me about the girls, if I'd ever seen them around campus. Ginny especially, because she was studying some of the same things I was, I suppose. She wanted to be a social worker, make a difference, you know. He said I'd have noticed her right away because she had this sad, forlorn air about her. Away from Peyton, she just seemed to melt, fade away, turn to air. He said I probably would have found her sad, maybe even thought up ways to start a conversation with her, but she'd have likely been unresponsive. Wouldn't catch my eye, if I looked her way and smiled. I don't remember seeing her, either of the girls, in fact, but I wonder if she wasn't homesick."

She frowned, thinking back, peeling back the years in her mind, in her memory. "He said he'd told the police he'd never met the girls before; never spoken to them, at least. They might've shared a class or two, but he couldn't recall which and if they even had, really. He could be a creepy boy. More than once or twice, he set my skin to crawling. Then, if you can believe, he told the police that if he _had_ known the girls, if he _had_ met them, he would have made sure to keep it on the down low; he wasn't some child, some idiot." She was frowning properly now, almost scowling, as if in discomfort. "He said a lot of things, and it made me angry just listening to him recount them all, but I've forgiven him. It's in the past. I just wonder if he didn't say all that to distract the authorities from whatever it was he'd been doing at that laboratory. I just... I can't help but wonder."

She set her mug down on the draining board and pricked the potatoes with a sharp, straight edged paring knife to be sure they were cooked through and switched the gas under the pot off, moving the pot to the sink and setting it down on the metal draining board to retrieve a colander. Setting the colander in the sink, she tipped the vegetables into it to drain the excess water to stop them from going completely to a mushy pulp, then returned them to the pot and rinsed the colander and turned it upside down on the draining board to dry.

The oven gave a ping, announcing that whatever had been cooking was done, and Amy set about finding some oven mitts. "Do you think it was something to do with drugs?" Parker asked, watching Amy set the cabbage, cauliflower, capsicum and leek bake down on the draining board and lift the lid off the casserole dish, depositing it in the sink.

"I don't know," Amy said truthfully. "He had a lot of bruises and needle marks and other nasty things you'd never think to envy him for, I can say that. Half the time, he looked liked he'd came out the losing end of an argument with a very, very long flight of stairs. He was always a bit spacey, I guess, but it got real bad sometimes. He'd never quit, of course, with whatever it was he was so obsessed with. He just kept at it. If it'd been a girl, I could've understood, but there was no girl. He wasn't saving up for a ring, or anything like that. If he even looked at a girl with a little sparkle of interest in his eye, I never saw it. I believe him when he said he hadn't known those girls. Completely. He simply can't have had the time to get to know them, in between his studies and his incurable obsession with... I don't know what!"

"He never tried to hide how bad things really were from you?" Parker asked, drawing a frown from Amy.

"How do you mean?" she asked, seriously trying to figure out what Parker meant.

"Empathically," Parker prompted.

"No. He didn't try, and I doubt he could have, anyhow. He was... heading for... some bad shit. I mean, I can't remember if I ever saw him eating, but... it wasn't good. When I could, I'd make something for him to eat when he got in, to save him the trouble, but it was always me eating it, at the end of the day. Mind you, it wasn't just the job at the laboratory. He had another job, too. It was crazy. I don't know what he needed all that money for – I always just assumed it was for his studies, with him doing a double degree – but it sure went somewhere. The place where we where living wasn't exactly the bee's knees. It was above this little Asian take-out joint. I really wasn't that in love with it – at all, in fact, but I guess... I guess I made do, you know. I don't know why. Really. I could've left; said bye-bye and left Bobby to his shady business and his barely-scraping-in-with-a-pass grades, but I stuck around for some crazy, mixed-up reason." She sighed, reaching for her coffee now and glancing at the clock on the wall. If Lyle wasn't back home soon, they'd just have to have tea without him. The food would be cold soon.

"He used to buy me those magazines. You know, the glossy-covered ones all the girls used to go crazy for; still do. I'm not sure if he bought them or if he got them for free, but he always turned up with the latest edition for me to leaf through. Mind you, I never had the time to read through them properly, even if I'd wanted to, but I took a quick squizz at the fashion pages now and again.

"I think Bobby got more use out of them than I did. He liked the... the, ah, pen friend pages. They really must have amused him. Don't ask me where he got the time, but I remember he even wrote to one of the girls." She rubbed a hand over her forehead. "Ugh, what was her name? He always made me write out the letters for him because he thought she'd notice the handwriting was a man's." She laughed momentarily, before her smile was replaced by a frown as she tried to bring the name to mind by sheer force of will. "It shouldn't be so hard! She was the first girl I'd ever known him to take the time to day with. I was always writing her address on the front of the envelopes, and all. Silly boy. Mimi! That was it! Her name was Mimi Cooper. Yeah, Mimi. I got it now."

For a moment, Parker didn't say anything, the thudding of her pulse in her ears so loud and overwhelming she thought, if she spoke, she wouldn't be able to hear the words that came out of her own mouth. Her best friend had only had one pen pal, and that had been Naomi. Today, Naomi was thought of as a group of people, rather than just one person, but back in the day, before all Hell had broke loose, Naomi had just been a girl who'd answered another girl's pen pal interest piece.

Naomi had been the one who'd sent Mimi the serum to disable the biomech components that kept them under T-Corp's lock-and-key; Naomi had been their "comrade". They had hardly cared who she was, all they'd known was that they had to trust someone, if they were ever going to make it out alive. Naomi had sent the serum in a bottle of Chanel No. 5 perfume. It hadn't been the most clever of disguises, but it had somehow done the trick. If Mimi hadn't have told her what it was, Parker would have assumed it merely to be just that: a bottle of perfume. That was the reason Parker had chosen Chanel No. 5 as her signature fragrance, because, to her, it symbolised her fighting spirit, it symbolised friendship and fighting for what was right, for those you loved, all of the things that mattered in life. And now...

And now even that had been shattered, ruined for her. And she couldn't say anything, had to just hold her tongue.

"I don't think I ever understood the tack he meant to take with Mimi – she was a lot younger than him, I have to say; I was quietly appalled the first time he brought it up with me, but I settled down after I'd heard what he wanted me to write back to her. It was, you know, pretty ordinary stuff. Mind you, freaky as Hell, but pretty ordinary. You know... for a thirteen-year-old girl." She smiled, remembering something from the past, and set her coffee cup down, finally resolving to serve them up dinner and be done with waiting around until it all got stone cold.

Parker didn't say anything whilst Amy served them both up, she was lost in her own thoughts, wondering who else had been in on it with Lyle, because it can't just have been him. No way could it have just been him.

"I completely understand why he was studying what he was studying," Amy went on later, passing her a plate and a fork and a butter knife, then sitting down at the table with her own food, "but he could have... he could have done other things. He was cluey in his own way. A couple of times when I didn't understand some of the stuff I was reading, he promptly set me on the right path. He knew about biology and chemistry and all of that. But I guess..." She trailed away, mulling over her thoughts.

"Jimmy's father was a doctor," Parker put in.

"Right, yes. That's right. His... his friend. Though I was going to say he was no stranger to the world of pharmaceuticals himself, what, with all the medications he'd been on over the years."

Parker nodded. That made sense too, she supposed. She took a bite of the cabbage bake thing and was surprised it wasn't completely horrendous. It actually had some flavour.

She struggled to remember what the young women, Peyton and Ginny, had been studying, if somehow Lyle might have roped them into his scheme. If perhaps he'd killed them to silence them, and there'd been some logical reason for their mutilation. To cover up the fact that he'd been experimenting on them, perhaps.

It made no sense considering he hadn't stopped with just Peyton and Ginny, but she couldn't help running it over in her mind anyway. Just as she was starting to like what she was eating, a horrible thought struck her and she lost her appetite then and there. What if perhaps he was still working on a way to disable and remove biomechanical colonies from the brain, such as the one he'd been implanted with, her real twin's upgrades? The serum Naomi had created was limited and didn't work for those types of biomech components. She felt suddenly sick.

"Did Bobby give you that bracelet?" she asked, to try to preoccupy her mind with something, anything, to detract from the sickness swirling in her stomach.

"Oh, no, it's not actually mine. Bobby sometimes lends it to me. I don't know why. I don't particularly like it, but I guess it's sort of like an insurance policy, you know. If I don't see him again, he doesn't get his beads back, and he's got a thing for them, you know. He's attached to them. So he'll want to pop by and get them back off me. He'll be around sometime. Always is."

Parker didn't say anything; she just wondered how Amy had known Lyle and Bobby were the same person. His own father didn't recognise him, and she couldn't blame him. It was a lucky thing, really. Looking at photographs of Bobby growing up, she wouldn't have equated him with the person he was now, as a grown man. Perhaps they could've been cousins, but no-one would ever fit them for the same person. A lucky thing, indeed, she thought. At least, for Lyle.

She wasn't so sure she would have minded Homeland Security stepping in and hauling him off to their secret hideout wherever. She didn't like him so much today. Not that she ever had, in reality.

"How long have you been vegetarian, Jacquelyn?" she asked Amy.

"As far back as I can remember, really. I usually don't cook everything to within an inch of its life, but it was starting to look a little withered and dejected, so I relented." She smiled at Parker then and Parker managed a tiny smile back, someway.

She didn't dislike Amy, high-Class Empath or not. Even if everything Amy had said had been a lie, she wouldn't have minded her, though she knew it wasn't, and she was beginning to suspect that Amy really was just a regular person, no Anomaly present. Just a regular person trying to live her life and do the best she could for those around her.

If Lyle had ever hurt her or taken advantage of her, then he was doubly a jerk.

.

After dinner, waiting for Lyle to make an appearance, Parker and Amy talked about nursing. When she'd been a teenybopper, Parker had always imagined she'd be a nurse, but her father had expected more of her. Annie was studying to be a nurse and the Raineses were no longer a friend of their family. And so she'd decided to become a lawyer. She hadn't been all that passionate about it, but it was a job, and from what she'd heard, it paid well _and_ brought prestige.

Mimi had been passionate about the environment. Mel had always been able to see her working in conservation and environmental protection and restoration. In actuality, Parker couldn't imagine what Mimi might have done if she'd lived long enough to get a job. She just knew whatever she'd have chosen to do, she'd have been great at it. She'd been a lovely singer and she'd been passable on the piano. She'd had such good rhythm, and her enthusiasm for life and love had been a constant source of inspiration to Melody. It had been hard not to like her, not to fall in love with her. Nowadays, Parker thought of her old friend as something of a sister and a daughter, much more than just a best friend. She never would have a sister – Faith had died long ago – and she'd never be a mother. After her unborn baby had died in their failed attempt to escape the clutches of T-Corp, she'd been told she'd never be a mother. She'd been hurt, but at twenty-two she'd still been able to imagine a life beyond motherhood. Now it stung more than she could ever have imagined. It hurt to know she'd be denied that kind of love for all of her days.

As it got later, Parker decided she'd just stay over and catch Lyle in the morning. She really wanted to see how he was doing. She'd promised to be a sister to him and she'd follow through with that promise if she could.

She fell asleep on the couch round eleven.

.

When she woke in the morning, she opened her eyes and frowned. She sat up, pushing at Lyle's arm. He'd fallen asleep sitting beside her on the floor. She didn't know who could sleep that way, but apparently he'd managed it. As a child, he may have slept that way many times, too worried to sleep in his comfortable bed that might lend him to complacency. She didn't know; she didn't care to ask.

She didn't like his closeness. She pushed him in the arm again, hoping to wake him. His hair was messy, not like him at all. Scruffy, as though he might've fallen asleep and ended up lying on the floor a couple times, but woken himself up long enough to rectify the situation.

"Where we you all yesterday?" she asked, when he finally woke. She'd been to the kitchen for a coffee, surprised to find coffee already made in the plunger and still warm, assuming that it had been Amy's doing, before she'd left in the taxi, or on some bus she'd caught early in the morning. Why she'd had to hurry out so quickly made no sense, but it was clear that she'd gone. Lyle was wearing his beads again.

Parker sat on the couch sipping her coffee, Melanie Safka playing over the stereo. Lyle had a lot of different music that adhered to very little sense of coherency, in a lot of different genres, but he was an Empath and Empaths could be mutable. The coffee was nice.

"You missed dinner. Jacquelyn made us something vegetarian. I'm not quite sure what, but it was edible enough."

"Lucy wanted to catch up. She hates losing touch with people, it seems: even the mad ones. We spoke for a while on the phone. She's doing okay, she said. Everything's A-OK. No trouble with her studies; Bobbi and Kristen are doing well. She asked me to chase something up for her, a book that she hadn't been able to find in Virginia or on the Net. I said I'd check out the second-hand and speciality book stores round town."

"We have one?"

"Three. Two second-hand stores that stock various items, not just books, one speciality store."

"Any luck?"

"Nada."

"You could've come home for dinner."

"Jacks would've laughed at me. I'm supposed to be good at finding things. I rang around a couple of places."

"You found somewhere that stocks the book?"

He nodded silently, then said, "Jack told me to tell you she enjoyed the company last night."

"She seems like a decent person."

"She's not so bad."

"Does she know Darla?"

"How would that be?" Lyle asked, with a frown. Confused at her sudden question, still a bit sleepy, probably.

"I'm not thick, Lyle. I know she's Randolph's daughter. I know about your past with Homeland Security. All that bull about Summer Camp's just that, bullshit. I do have a reasonably functioning memory, you know. I remembered that you said Summer Camp was in Virginia. Well, guess what, there's a lot of other stuff in Virginia, too. Darla's one of your daddy's Empaths, isn't she?"

"He doesn't own any of us. The government doesn't own us. She's a free person."

"She may be, but the Centre still owns you. You're not free."

"That was my choice."

"Why'd you do it, huh?"

"They already own Noah's upgrades, and it's not as though I'm going to be seeing the last of them any time soon, is it? I owed them, for taking Kyle from them. They could have had someone else; Reagan, say. I couldn't let them have him. I owe that much to him, to Brigitte. She... she would not have wanted that for him. She wasn't all bad. She had her reasons."

"And what reasons were those?" Parker asked sceptically.

"They were her own reasons, nobody else's."

"You sure she wasn't just playing you for a fool?"

"I'm a Class Five Empath, Parker. What do you think?"

"She was a good-looking woman," Parker countered, "a skilled manipulator. She even got to Daddy. And you two were an item, for a while there."

"Well, that didn't last," Lyle replied, subdued.

"No, you really let her down."

He glanced the way of the lounge room window, silently.

"Surely you could have come up with a compromise," she said, at last.

"Courtland wouldn't hear of it. He doesn't trust this family. He wanted a real commitment from me, or else he was just going to go ahead and do his own thing." He looked away from the window, meeting Parker's gaze. "Should I have let them have my child?" he asked her. "Again."

"Of course not," she replied.

"Well there you go." He sighed.

"What is it about Emily that gets to you?"

"She's courageous," he said quietly.

"Perhaps she reminds you of Jacquelyn," Parker prompted.

"Catherine. She reminds me of Cat."

"How do you know you wouldn't hurt her?"

"Haven't I already hurt her enough?" he asked.

As if such a concept so much as registered in his mind, Parker thought. "Haven't you already taken enough innocent, young lives?"

"And just they try to prove it."

Parker frowned at him. "I thought you were trying to change. That it mattered to _you_."

"It does."

"Then you can just cut that sort of talk out right now," she told him.

He sighed. "Yeah." He didn't bother apologising, it would be a moot point, anyway. Apologising wasn't going to do anything for those girls, for their grieving, confused families, struggling to get by, to come to terms with their loss.

"I heard Silvie's mad at you," Parker said, just remembering now the conversation she'd had with Debbie a couple of days ago.

"Sad. She's sad, not mad at me. I let her down. She... she doesn't understand that love can't solve everything, that just because we're a family, we can't just keep on expecting things will turn out okay in the end. Sure, we can _try_, we can stick by one another, and if it'd been just her, I'd probably have relented, but there are children in the picture now. Innocent children. It's not right that they're brought up like this, having to fight for everything, having to second guess everything, to be _so_ careful. They need to be away from all of this."

Parker had heard that, that Silvie was pregnant again. "It's not as simple as that, Lyle," she told him.

"I understand that. I fully understand that it's not that simple, Parker."

"Then give her a break," Parker sighed.

"It just feels like encouraging her, like condoning her fantasies."

"But that's not what it is, Lyle. You're not condoning anything, you're just being a decent human being."

"She _can't_ stay."

"I understand."

He sighed. "But you _do_, Parker! Can't you talk with her? Maybe she'll listen to you."

"I'll give it a shot, but like I said, it's not that simple. She's got connections here, she's made a life for herself here. Her friends are here, her _family_. And it's not all peaches and roses out there, you know. It's dangerous, too."

"The biggest problem is Broots. He can't just up and decide to move, and they're engaged. They're in love, Convergence partners. He's her children's father, her companion. And he has Debbie, his daughter. And Debbie has Frankie."

Parker nodded, gesturing a hand. "Exactly. It's complicated. The company wouldn't just accept Broots's resignation, wouldn't just hand him a transfer on a silver platter. And Debbie's not going to leave Frankie. And where else is Frankie going to get work, with his history? Debbie is Silvie's best friend; her 'sister'."

Lyle sighed, looking back to the window.

"You want to tell me what's going on in your head?" Parker asked, leaning closer to catch his eye.

He didn't look at her. "Are you ever going to be happy, Mel?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I don't think I may ever learn to be happy if you're not happy," he said quietly.

She sighed. "I don't know, Lyle. You have to stop obsessing over me. I am my own person, and you are your own person. You have to let me be one day."

"But you're my sister."

"Not really."

"To me, you are."

She nodded, accepting his argument, for the time being. "I understand what you're saying, okay, but I have to say, I have to make this point very clear – my life is my life, dear. Only I can decide if I'm happy or not, despite the situation I find myself in. And as much as you might feel the urge to fix my problems for me, you can't do it all. Only I can make the final choice, the final leap. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

He nodded silently.

"That's great, love. Now, what about you? Who can make it okay for you?"

"I can."

"Yep. Don't get me wrong, there'll be people who help us along the way, people we need, for a time, but we won't always need them, and that's okay, because they have their own lives to be getting on with too. It's okay to let people go, too. It's okay if you let me go now, hon. If holding on is what got you so messed up in the first place, maybe it's time to try a different tack."

"It wasn't you. You never messed me up."

"I don't know, but if that's your belief, then okay. But you've got to know we can't have everything we want in this life; we have to learn to live with compromise."

"I understand that."

"Can you do that?" she asked.

"I think so."

"You've done it in the past. You may not have thought so, but you have. A lot. I think you're gonna be okay."

"I don't want Silvie to get hurt again. I don't want Jethro hurt."

"I understand what you're saying."

"He's just a child."

"As all children are."

"There has to be some way."

Parker set her coffee down on the floor, holding up her hands. "Okay, perhaps it's time we changed the topic," she said. "If we let things play out as they are, perhaps a solution will come to us all of its own accord. Maybe the universe will sort things out itself." She reached for Lyle's hand, holding it in her own. "Do you think we can give that a shot? Just take things easy for now?"

He frowned.

Parker managed a small smile, hoping it adequately portrayed that he had her support in either choice he made.

"I guess," he agreed finally, and she was so glad she almost sighed. It was like dealing with a child, she thought, but she just had to suffer through it. She just had to suck it up and get through it, and then maybe the universe would have a little gift for her, too.

As much as Lyle's new-found haplessness was pathetic and stomach-churning, Parker consoled herself with the thought that she was winning; she'd successfully won his trust. She'd thought it would be harder, but it hadn't been so hard really. He'd been looking for a sign from her and all she'd had to do was play the game. She was still going to err on the side of caution, just in case he was playing her, but she was entitled to a sense of accomplishment now and again – when she did a good job – wasn't she?

She'd also learnt a lot she hadn't known before, and that could be useful in the future, could mean the difference between living and dying.

What she needed to do now was get in touch with Emily. If she could hand this thing over to her, maybe the younger woman would be competent enough to take the trouble of Parker's shoulders and give her a moment of peace. What Lyle needed now was something she couldn't offer him. He needed someone to believe in him, but more than that, he needed a companion. A _proper_ companion. And she might be able to do a lot of things, but that was not one of them. Lyle would not get his wish. She was not going to be his, whether or not he was her brother. Such concerns were beside the point, that was absolutely where she drew the line!

Lyle needed someone to support him, to look out for him and love him at the same time. Even if, in a different world, in different lives, she'd have been willing to give it a shot, she couldn't do so here or now. She hadn't been able to even stand with Thomas when he'd needed her; she could hardly stand with _herself_. The difference was, as it was just herself, she could live – she could make it through.

She supposed it was a good thing she'd never been a mother. A sad thing, but a good thing. She'd probably have ended up doing as good a job being a parent to a child as Lyle had. In other words, she'd likely have completely sucked.

She just hoped Emily knew what she'd gotten herself in for; hoped she was willing to play the deception game, and possibly lose everyone she'd ever loved, ever cared for, _fought_ for, because if she was going to take on Lyle's cause, she was going to be making sacrifice after sacrifice. That was the nature of such endeavours, the nature of compromise. Sometimes you won some, sometimes you lost some. Sometimes everything sucked.

She might even lose more. She might lose her life.

Perhaps he'd never felt he'd had the right moment to tell her that the Centre owned him, but it was one of those things that was important. Important enough to mean life or death for him and anyone else who affiliated themselves with him.

When she snapped out of her thoughts, Parker noticed that Lyle was humming "Proud Mary". Oh, and then there was that. Parker could sure see putting up with Lyle's randomness being hard.

She touched his arm. "Hey, you know them Naomi people."

"Mmm."

"You never met any of them, did you?"

He frowned, thinking about her question. "No. I... I don't think so. In any case, I never met anyone claiming to be a part of Naomi, no. You bring up a good question, though. I always just assumed they were a secretive lot."

"Must be," Parker agreed. What a bloody liar!

"Unless they're affiliated with another company. T-Corp, say. They couldn't very well say they were a part of Naomi then, I imagine."

Parker laughed. "No, they could not. Why? Is that your thinking?"

"I don't know, honestly. It's more likely they're Centre, the way I see it. The Centre has traditionally had more Pretenders to work with than T-Corp, and they created the first viable upgrades. If I had to guess, I'd say they either knew something about biomech tech personally, from having worked with it in past, or they're Pretenders and they picked it up along the way, through a lot of in-depth research and a heck of a lot more Simming."

"Yeah?" Parker asked.

"I'd say so," Lyle said, no longer looking miserable or out-of-his-depth. Rival operations had been a speciality of his, both on Field and in theory, and he sure could spin a story where they were concerned. He'd even cited his stint with Mimi, the T-Corp mole, as having been his inspiration for that career pathway, but Parker was sure he'd just grabbed the first thing that came to mind and ran with it. Mimi hadn't really inspired him to take up the cause of the rivals being people too, an angle the company weren't too pleased with – they were savages, that was all – though they'd been pleased enough with the intel he'd brought them over the years. He hadn't always been the world's biggest screw-up. Once, he'd been entirely capable of putting one foot in front of the other and actually _going_ somewhere. No, he hadn't given a stuff about Mimi; about their daughter, Saskia. He was just good at bullshitting people and neatly hiding his true motivations, Parker thought. At playing at a real boy, as opposed to the psycho robot he was in truth, the sociopath.

Yes, he'd admitted he'd been mad, first of all – not just at Mimi, but at his daughter for merely being a part of that treacherous witch – but after a good many years working with these people, he'd begun to see them for the people they were underneath. He'd begun to see the possibility for certain partnerships, certain trade-offs.

They didn't have to jump headlong into armed warfare; they were surely other ways to dull the blow of whatever malady they were suffering and still remain clear-headed enough to work through the cure.

Yes, he'd always been a downright liar. Always loved to deny his true nature, and pretend he was really a good guy.

That was part of the reason Parker could never trust him. He said one thing, did another, and made up endless lies. He wasn't together at all, but he still believed he was, believed he was the bomb. It was frankly untrustworthy.

At least Raines was consistent these days, she thought. Yay, Daddy! He was a total bastard and he never played at being anything else, to anybody. Even his new wife, if their very vocal arguments were anything to go by. Parker didn't know how they'd managed to give it a rest with the aggression and the arguments long enough to get down to the business of making babies, but maybe they'd both just got off-their-faces drunk and that had solved the problem for them. With Rebel Agnes's birth in 2010, they'd passed baby number four, and who knew what was next for their crazy little clan.

Parker found it frankly creepy, but like she was about to say so. The squirts might have been her half siblings. The only worrying thing, apart from the fact that Raines was their dad, was that Lyle seemed to like hanging out with them. Or he had, a couple months back. Now he wasn't so keen, as though he was trying to detach himself from them the same way he'd done so from his daughter.

He'd once had a regular following, a regular fan club, but his fans had all grown up and were over him.

Plum's kids were getting along nicely, she'd overheard from Plum. Piedad had started in high school this year, and her newest, Gwilym, was three years old already. The nurse had been chatting with her other half, Cherry, in the ladies' bathroom and Parker had been pretending to touch up her lipgloss, really just wishing for a moment of peace away from Lyle and the rest of the loco lot.

Plum's kids weren't little babies anymore. Luyu was ten and Bliss was nine. Parker doubted they still believed Lyle to be their father, if they'd ever bought the story in the first instance. He'd never told them he was, he'd just told everyone else; insinuated it, at the very least. Plum had used to palm the kids off on him a lot when they'd been younger, when she'd had girly nights to get off to, but now they were older she hired a babysitter most times. Certainly, the palming-off wasn't so frequent.

Even Maria's daughter, Ollie, was thirteen, and Bobbi was already a proper grown-up, nineteen years old. The last time she'd seen her, Parker had honestly not recognised her. It hadn't been until Midori had detached herself from her desk and rushed over to hug the young woman that it had twigged in Parker's head who she was. That and Midori's excited cry of "Bobbi!" Parker still had issues with that name, it was true.

Julie was thoroughly over the little crush she'd had on Lyle, and even Sally didn't smile when she saw him nowadays. The L5s – Calum, Mickey, Maria, Adrian and Dewy – no longer tagged around after him in deep admiration; they'd even stopped calling him "sir".

Sam wasn't the only one who'd gotten over him, it seemed. Parker could just about understand why Lyle was feeling so down. No-one wanted to be his pal anymore. At least, no-one but Silvie, and she just brought back all of his past inadequacies along with one massive guilt-trip. He was ready to move on, too.

Probably, he couldn't understand why he had to play the game of being Silvie's dad anymore, now that she had Broots.

Hell, even Porter had left the state. He was currently trying to win Plum's mother over. Why he wanted to marry the woman when she was so much older than him was anyone's guess, but apparently age wasn't something that bothered him.

Parker wouldn't have minded a young man like that. In theory, anyway. In reality, she could hardly think about anyone else dying because they'd chosen to love her. She was lonely too.

She wondered if she'd ever get used to the feeling.

The sound of Lyle's cell phone ringing broke her out of her thoughts and she got up and followed Lyle into the kitchen, empty mug in hand, and left it in the kitchen sink to be washed later. Lyle couldn't find his phone, which, considering he was not only an Empath but also an L5 Sweeper and Reaper was pretty sad, but Parker had a good ear, good direction sense. She walked over to the cutlery drawer, opened it, and frowned down at the caller ID. _Thursday._ Who was that? She handed the phone to Lyle.

The CD in the lounge stopped playing. "Lyle Parker," Lyle answered. He frowned. "You want her number? You want me to call her first and tell her you mean to call, or no? I know you're not a child, darling; she just-"

He was talking to Silvie, Parker supposed. She hadn't recognised the ringtone. Lyle must have changed all of his ring tones back to the generic one that had come with the phone. And why did he have Silvie under the codename "Thursday"? What was that about?

"It's no trouble. I can- Alright, why don't you come around and I'll find her number for you?" he glanced at his watch. "It's seven-thirty now, so- Ten minutes. Okay. Drive safely." He put his phone down on the counter. "Silvie's coming round."

"Should I go?" Parker asked.

"If you like."

Parker shrugged. "Thursday?" she asked.

"She's a Thursday child." He glanced at his phone, then looked away again, agitated.

"Whose number did she want?"

"Ah, a counsellor I know."

"Oo. Ah..."

Lyle rubbed a hand over his cheek and finally opened the drawer and stuffed his phone back in it, shutting the drawer promptly and walking to the stove to collect the kettle and put a new pot of water on to boil.

Parker smiled. She leant back against the counter casually. "Does this counsellor have a name?"

"I forget," Lyle told her, still looking irritated.

Parker's smile turned into a full-blown grin. Yep, she'd touched a nerve alright. "No you don't," she countered, "you just don't want to tell me."

"Don't know what you're talking about," he said vaguely, walking to the fridge to take out a bowl of fruit and set it down in the middle of the table. What it had been doing in the fridge was anyone's guess.

"You like her."

"I don't like anyone," he said to the table.

Parker stepped away from the counter, closer to the table. She caught Lyle's gaze. "You must have talked about her before. Or how else would Silvie know about her? Or that you had her number?" she pressed.

"I don't want to talk about it," he replied, shaking his head and looking back to the table.

Parker dropped the grin, her expression sobering. "Is she Asian?" she asked. Maybe the reason he didn't want to talk about her, or even think about her, it seemed, was because doing so would be dangerous... for her.

He stared at her in irritation. "Parker!"

"What?" she asked openly. "I may need to intervene in future, did you ever think of that?"

"Don't you have better things to do? Weren't you going to befriend Emily; suss the girl out for me?" He snapped his fingers. "On it, girl."

"Shut it, boy," she replied back, noticing that he'd used his left hand. He was supposed to be right-handed, that wasn't awesome. Bobby had been left-handed; he wasn't. He'd also called Emily by her first name, instead of her last name, as he usually did. That, and he'd called her 'girl'. She didn't like it. She wasn't even a girl. At fifty-two, she was well and truly a woman. "What's the hurry with Emily?" she questioned. "You afraid she might elope with a handsome stranger?"

He laughed. "You are so funny."

"Aren't I? And I wasn't aware I was going to be sussing Emily out for you. You said I should make friends with her for her sake?" She didn't glare at him and say, 'What are you talking about? You're delusional! Bobby spoke to me about that, not _you_!' She, instead, gave in to the possibility that he'd Empathically twigged on to some of their conversation and adjusted it in his mind to mean _they_ had had that conversation – and she wasn't about to let him know he was wrong, they hadn't.

Anyway, he _was_ Bobby. In a way. Wasn't that why he wanted to integrate with the kid? To begin the long, arduous journey to "mending" himself. (As if she believed that!)

"You know what I mean," Lyle replied, bringing her mind back to the present. "For all I know, she could be seriously mentally ill. Not that I'd blame her, but I would like to know what I was up against before- I'm not going to be her friend if she's not going to stick up for herself when I get in one of my moods. No thank you."

"And how am I going to find that out?" Parker asked. Oh, yes, and he was back to his same old, same old. Covering his own ass. Charming how he could just do that. Parrot on for ages about how he thought of other people – _not just himself_ – and then turn around and throw everything he'd just said out the window. Then, she supposed consistency was hard when you were living a lie, a double life; when the true you didn't match the supposed you. Hard.

"You're a Pretender," he protested.

"Not a miracle worker," she muttered in a low, unimpressed voice.

"Is there a difference?"

"Are you getting in one of those moods?" she asked. "Do I need to administer treatment? Can I slap you?"

He sat down in a chair at the kitchen table. "If it makes you happy," he mumbled.

"You know, I didn't ask you to sleep on the floor," she told him.

"Amy was sleeping in my bed."

"Amy?"

"The chick who was here. Her name's Amy."

"I thought it was Jacquelyn."

He gave her a funny look. "For goodness sakes, did you not recognise she was Randolph's daughter?"

Parker laughed pithily. "Yes, I did. I was trying to be subtle."

He shook his head. "You needn't be," he replied.

"So, were you ever," she widened her eyes suggestively, grinning, "together?"

"All the time, Sis, all the time," he told her, shaking his head. "We were room-mates, nothing else. She's not into Empaths."

"Aw!"

The kettle whistled and he got up to take it off the gas.

Parker walked to the sink and rinsed her cup out, pouring the last of the now cold coffee into her cup and turning the tap on and pouring the old grounds out, down the drain. She turned the tap off and looked around at the cupboards, wondering which one kept the coffee grounds.

Lyle moved past her to get the coffee down from the cupboard and passed it to her. The coffee grounds were kept in a biscuit container with mermaids on the outside. A present from Persephone, Parker presumed. She was the mermaid girl of BC.

She added three scoops of coffee to the plunger and peeked out the window at the car that had pulled up across the road, beside the park. "Just in time," she said, taking the kettle from the sink and pouring hot water over the grounds. She closed her eyes and inhaled the coffee smell appreciatively. "I don't know where you get your coffee, but I like it," she said seriously. "You must show me, someday. We could go shopping together."

"Sure, yeah, because you'd love that," Lyle replied. "I get it from that little continental shop on- across town... Elm Street is where it's at."

"Elm Street. Got it."

He walked off to get the door for Silvie.

When she came into the kitchen, Silvie didn't look happy. She was standing a bit away from her dad and marched over to Parker and put her arms around her and hugged her, without even asking. "I'm glad you're here Aunt Parker," she whispered.

"Thank you. You want some coffee?"

"I'm okay."

"Silvie." Lyle gave her a pointed look. "Come in the other room, darl."

"Why? Don't tell me you've lost her number? Don't you have it in your phone?"

"No, I don't."

"Stupid."

"Just come in the other room and I'll try to find it."

"Don't you mean you'll get _me_ to try an' find it?" she replied, very unimpressed-like.

"I think I know where it is."

Silvie crossed her arms. "Then go get it. You're not luring me anywhere."

"'Luring'?"

"You heard me!" she challenged.

He sighed heavily. "Silvie, don't be a little shit."

She snorted, glancing at the table, for a brief moment, at the fruit in the fruit bowl. "Did Darcy get you that?" she asked, unsmiling, and knocked the fruit bowl off the table with a calculated brush of her hand. It smashed when it hit the floor.

"Forget about it," Lyle replied. "If you want to go on being a bitch, do it on your own time." He stomped off unhappily, leaving Parker to frown about the whole thing.

Silvie hadn't exactly been a little darling, breaking the bowl Darcy had got her dad. Darcy was Parker's favourite writer; she'd have loved to have gotten something from her, even a lousy glass _fruit bowl_!

Besides, it had looked expensive. More like something to be admired but not touched, an artwork rather than anything practical such as a fruit bowl. And now it was history.

Parker would have stomped too.

She'd never met Darcy, but neither had Lyle, in all likelihood. He was merely her translator. He'd translated her novels into German, French and Dutch.

She bent over and got down to pick up the smashed up pieces of fruit and glass. Some of the apples were okay so Parker put those in the sink to wash.

A moment later, Lyle reappeared with a Post-it note he handed to Silvie. She snatched the Post-it off him and stalked off. She stopped at the door and frowned. "You should leave that to the man of the house," she told Parker sarcastically, and walked on out the door. She slammed the front door more loudly than was necessary.

Lyle went to collect the trash can so Parker could put the mess in there. "Thanks, Sis."

"If that's what pregnancy does to you – yeesh!"

Lyle sighed. "I dunno."

"Was her mom the same way?"

"Nothing alike. Maybe you're right. Maybe Silvie is mad at me. Oh well, I deserve it."

"Your fruit bowl didn't deserve it," Parker said.

"It's okay."

"Did Darcy really give you it?"

"Yeah, really. Through the post."

"How'd she know you were the one who translated her stuff?"

"Courtland probably told her."

"Creep."

"I'm not terribly fussed."

Parker frowned at the little pieces of glass still clinging to the floor. Lyle reached over to stop her from touching them. "Leave that. I'll clean it up with the vacuum cleaner. Go and wash your hands."

Parker stood up and walked to the sink, her back glad to be able to stretch out again. She turned on the tap and reached for the hand soap. She scrubbed her hands together, watching the water running into the sink and down the drain. She rinsed her hands under the cold water and turned the tap off, turning her hands over to inspect them in the natural light coming in from the kitchen window. They looked fine.

"Sis?"

"Yeah what? Do you have a dishcloth?"

Lyle opened one of the cupboards and got a dishcloth out for her. He handed it to her.

She dried her hands, shaking the dishcloth out and folding it neatly and leaving it on the draining board. "You were going to say something," she prompted, then held her hands out in front of her. "I'm fine. See. Fine."

He looked at her hands and sighed, closing his eyes.

"What?" Parker asked.

Lyle opened his eyes again. "We're having a child together."

Parker stared at him in disbelief. "Silvie and..."

He glanced at the fridge suspiciously, then back to her. "Silvie's my daughter."

Parker nodded silently. Yes, she knew that.

"I'm talking about Emily. Emily and I are having a child together."

Parker went on staring at him silently.

"Will you say something?"

"Are you shittin' me?"

"No. Unfortunately."

"Fuck!"

"Yeah," he replied, sounding depressed.

"Why the fuck would you do that?" she asked, wide-eyed.

Lyle winced. "I guess because I felt like it."

"She's not even your _type_!"

"I don't care."

Parker backed away from him, bumping into the sink behind her. "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm a selfish idiot."

"Are you taking drugs?" she asked wildly.

"Oh, which ones are you referring to, honey? I'm taking a whole lot of drugs!"

Parker cringed. "She was down with it, right? Emily?"

"I guess."

"You didn't... _make_ her?"

"Oh no! Uh-ah. I most certainly did not." He frowned. "Um... at least I don't think I did."

Parker shook her head unhappily. "Lyle, you're just a bundle of joy!"

"Not really," he returned.

"I was joking!" she growled. Scowling at him, she asked, "Was she plastered at the time?"

"No."

"Why not?" she growled. "So, what, she _remembers_ it was you?"

"I think so. Uh... um... Maybe I should just go and shoot myself now."

Parker's eyes widened in horror. "What?" What the hell else had he done?

"I think I'll just go and do that," Lyle agreed, gesturing to the door and starting to turn that way.

Parker leapt forward and grabbed his arm roughly. "What did you do, idiot?" she demanded.

"You don't wanna know, Sis."

"Spit it!" she hissed in deadly tones.

"I sorta... Well, we sorta... She's just so adorable, you know! And she never said, 'No. Get off me, freak.' She was just sort of, 'It's cool.' I'm not," he bit his lip worriedly, "Sydney. I still like girls. Probably too much."

Before Parker knew what she was doing, she'd let go of his arm and a loud slap resounded across the room.

Lyle winced. "Good form, Sis, but... ah... a little too late, don't you think?"

"I can't believe I _know_ you!" she choked out, watching an ugly red mark come up on his face.

"I can't believe I know me, either."

She made a little whiny noise in the back of her throat. Straightening up, she pointed sharply to the kitchen door. "The next time you have the urge to make nice with Jarod's _sister_, whom you tried to _kill_, go lock yourself in the closet!" she growled.

"Do I have to?"

Parker's eyes widened again and she stared at him. "_Yes!_"

"Can you give me one good reason why?"

"If you don't, I'll tell Jarod!"

"Tempting, but you do realise I'm an Empath. I could just make you forget, if I wanted to."

"Bite me!" she growled.

"I could make Jarod forget."

"Eww, big talker!"

"Are you trying to force my hand, Sis?"

"Hell yes!" she growled, grinning sharply.

He sighed. "Well, I guess I could ask her, but I'm not sure she wouldn't call the cops on me."

"Ask her what?" Parker demanded, glaring at him.

"Yes, Sis, I'm going to invite her back to my time machine and ask her if she'd very much like to travel the universe with me! What do you think? Ask her to marry me, of course."

Parker choked, then rearranged her expression into one of normality. "Honey, I'm feeling a little under the weather? Would you very kindly show me to the nearest bathroom. A medicine cabinet wouldn't hurt, either."

Lyle felt her forehead, frowning. "What hurts?"

"My sanity!" she growled, between gritted teeth.

"Well, you know, you should get your own pills for that," he replied evasively. "Not that I'm recommending it, if I'm truthful."

"Why are you being like this?" Parker shouted.

"It's not like I can help it," he replied.

"Why the fuck not?"

"I _like_ her! I don't even care if she hates me, or what! _I don't care!_"

"Why?"

He stomped his foot childishly. "I don't know," he complained. "You're supposed to be on my side, Sis!"

"If you're gonna chuck a wobbly, I'm gonna glass you with your ridiculous coffee plunger," Parker told him seriously.

"I just want to be normal!"

Parker narrowed her eyes. "Oh, I see. She said she'd consider keeping you if you were normal, is that it?"

"No."

"Then why the hell are you behaving like such a blathering fool?"

"Because she's wonderful, and she deserves someone who won't have the urge to murder her in her sleep in the middle of the night."

"I don't think that sort of thing can be cured," Parker told him bluntly.

Lyle deflated, dropping his shoulders. "Are you going to tell Jarod now? I think I want to die. And at least if it's Jarod who does it, he'll feel like he got to have some retribution for Kyle."

"You have to stop taking those pills, whatever the hell they are. They are not your friend," Parker told him seriously.

"Emily's my friend," he said wistfully.

"Oh God!" Parker grabbed his hand in her own. "You don't need Emily," she told him with wide eyes. "You need Midori!"

"Midori who?" he mumbled.

"Midori _and_ Lucy! Shit, if Bobbi's not your kid, maybe you should have her too!"

"Sis, that's messed-up. Bobbi too!"

Parker nodded. "Uh-huh. Emily's too old for you. You don't want her."

"I don't think she's too old. I think she's perfect."

Parker smacked his forehead with her palm. "Snap out of it! The only reason you want her is because she reminds you of Margaret. Do you have any idea how messed-up _that_ is?"

"No, I'm over Cooper. I don't want her anymore."

"Why the fuck not?"

"She's married. Plus, she wouldn't want me after I done in her kid."

"And Emily _would_? Kyle was her _brother_!"

"I should do the right thing."

"When's the baby due?" Parker asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Mid June," Lyle told her. "We're going to name her Aretha Sunday."

Parker shook her head. "You are not going to name her anything, idiot! You are going to stay out of it. You're going to do the right thing, alright. By which I mean, you're going to tell Emily you want nothing to do with her and if she even thinks to squeal you'll come back and finish her off, and the brat she's carrying."

"My _baby_?" Lyle asked disbelievingly.

"What's the fucking problem? Are you not an Empath, Lyle?"

"Sorta."

"Then it should be as easy as I, 2, 3 for you!"

"Should I tell her I'll," he drew a line over his throat, "Hubertus, too?"

"Oh, you fucking didn't!"

"I told you I was fucked-up."

"How old is he? She?"

"He. He's going to be two in November."

Parker ran a hand through her hair. "This is bad. This is really bad."

"I don't want to kill her. Or our children."

"Did I say that you should?" Parker growled. "I said nothing of the fucking sort, lunatic! I said you should drop her ass."

"Mmm-hm. Do you mean-?"

"No! I don't mean kill her! I mean dump her! 'Look, lady, we are so fucking through! The end!' You go spouting on to Silvie about the dangers of getting mixed up with the Centre – and then what do _you_ go and do! You are fucking _unbelievable_, do you know that?"

"Sis, I'm not a child."

"Then grow up and _dump_ her! Ugh! Don't tell me Hubertus inherited the Anomaly from you! For Hell sake! Lyle!"

"I... I don't know. He's only one."

"Does Silvie know about this shit?"

"Yeah. He's her brother. Of course she knows."

"And you wonder why she's pissed at you."

"No. I don't wonder. I know why she's mad at me. I was a jerk." He sighed. "Look, Sis, I know I can be a bit manic, but I'm not kidding. I like Emily. I wouldn't call it love, but who knows – what would I know? Just, take a few deep breaths and calm down. Maddie and her teen angst is really affecting me adversely today. You might've noticed."

"Who the fuck are you talking about?" Parker shot.

Lyle pointed to the right wall. "Madison lives in number six."

"Next to that loony who keeps stealing your bin?"

"That's right."

"Shouldn't she be at fucking school?"

"She's not feeling well."

"Sure. Fucking sure."

"She had a shot yesterday."

Parker made a face.

"I did have a chat with her mother about it. You have no idea how long I stood outside by the mailboxes waiting for Jenna to come out and check the mail. It wasn't fun. Needless to say, Jenna told me to piss off and said if I ever came near her again she'd back over me with her car. She has a very expensive car. It's the Rolls-Royce out there."

"And she lives here?"

"She divorced her husband a couple of months ago. She used to live in a nice little house. Well, it wasn't little..." He shook his head. "Moving on. The point, basically, is, my new meds are a little... twisty, and I can't very well say 'no thank you', as you know. I'm their little bitch now – they command it, and I do it. Quick-like. And, yeah, they're always sucking your blood to make sure you take the stuff. Oo, did you see that cute, little sparkling unicorn that just pranced across the road outside?" He laughed. "I should have told you to begin with. About Emily and I."

"You think!" she growled.

"I didn't want you to think badly of her, that's all."

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

"Where do I begin? After I threw her out of a window and shot her brother – to _death_ – she still let me touch her. She gave me her phone number and told me, when we spoke last, that she misses me."

"She's too nice," Parker growled.

"You're telling me, Sis."

"So why don't you dump her? You'd be doing her a favour."

"I would if I could."

"You said you weren't doing all this for some chicky baby."

"I lied."

"Bastard!"

He patted her hair. "I'm sorry, Sis."

Parker slapped his hand away, wondering what she was so pissed about. It wasn't as though she gave a damn, beyond the fact that he'd found some way to corrupt her old friend's little sister. She wasn't _jealous_.

"You're miserable now."

"You can just shut up now!" Parker growled, the anger in her voice real and slightly scary. "Why do you care about her?" she snapped spitefully.

"When she's around, it's not hard to breathe. To live. Nothing is hard. I think I could just do anything, if it was with her, to keep her by my side. To make it okay for her." He smiled, thinking about Emily, seeing her in his mind's eye. "She is so _beautiful_! She is _so_ beautiful. In her soul. To me, she is the most beautiful thing in this whole, damn world. If I didn't know her, if I'd never met her, I wouldn't know what living was. I would never have known. And now I can't give it back, that knowledge. I can't live without her. I can't give her up to the universe! I want her to be mine! I want to be _hers_! I've never wanted anything more. I can tell myself there are a thousand different things, a hundred thousand things more precious, more worthy, meaningful, but I'm only lying, a hundred, a thousand times. I lie to myself all the time, telling myself it's okay that we're apart, that I miss her like I could just die from it all, forget how to breathe. I put up barriers, so many stories between us. Fairy tales. She's never in them. I studiously banish her. From kingdom after kingdom. She never puts up a fight, but she's always there when I go home at night. In the quiet, just there, by the firelight. Still in my heart. I don't think she'll ever leave. I don't think I want her to.

"When it's so quiet, I listen for her smile, for her heart beating, and I can hear it! I can _hear_ it!" He closed his eyes. "I don't know what it means, but I know I don't want her to go. She can stay there, by the fire. If I told her to go and she went, she might get cold and she might get sick, and I'd hate myself if anything ever happened to her."

"You don't find that strange?" Parker asked.

He opened his eyes, laughing a little. "No. That's just how she makes me feel." He smiled. "She's wonderful."

"Does she sparkle in the sunlight?" Parker asked. He _was_ an Empath, and he had mentioned a certain susceptibility to his teenaged neighbour's moods. Maybe she was baiting him a bit, but she didn't wave it off and say, Aw, don't worry. Forget about it.

"Beautifully," Lyle whispered softly.

Parker looked at her hands instead of him. She couldn't stand it. It made her feel sick, and used, and a bundle of other shit she didn't even want to acknowledge. She told herself he was having a bar of her, a real bar of her. She should have been laughing. Ha, ha, you're the funniest! But she couldn't quite manage it. A part of her believed it, believed the affection in his expression when he thought of Emily was real. And it troubled her.

She kept coming back to the same argument. He wasn't her brother. He wasn't. Her brother, her poor baby, would never know that sort of love, just the way her unborn baby never would. She never would. A sob rose in her throat and she tried unsuccessfully to swallow it. At hearing the sorry sound, tears sprung to her eyes, burning.

"Oh, baby!"

Tears ran warmly down her face and blurred her vision. She didn't try to blink them away, she didn't want to see the look of concern in Lyle's eyes. She let him take her in his arms and hold her, but she didn't hold him back. She stayed still as anything, crying loudly. And then she dropped her head onto his shoulder and went on crying. Why couldn't he be her brother? Why couldn't she find someone to love? Why did Tommy have to be dead? Why did she have to hurt Jarod, time and again?

"You're mad!" she cried. "It isn't fair! Why do you get someone to love? You don't deserve it!"

Lyle held her and rubbed her back comfortingly. "Hey. It's gonna be okay, baby. Someone special will come along for you, too. Just you believe it, baby girl. Don't stop believing it. You're wonderful too. You are so wonderful."

You are so full of shit! she wanted to scream back, but the tears in her eyes messed up her head and got stuck in her throat, or perhaps that was something else, just a little made up lump, but whatever the case, she couldn't speak, she could only sob, she could only go on bawling her eyes out.

It was disgusting, and she was letting the monster hold her, touch her, _comfort_ her. It was _so_, so _disgusting_!

_He's insane!_ she thought savagely. _He thinks you're his daughter. His daughter from another life with Emily! Fucking mad!_

She didn't know the song he was humming for her, all she knew was that it was slowly but surely leaching the anger from her limbs, from her tense muscles, her brooding, swirling, furious thoughts. She was slowly but surely losing all of her anger, slowly but surely folding. Soon, she would be boneless, powerless. If he ever let go of her, she would slide to the floor and she wouldn't even care if she never got up again.

But then something happened: she felt warm. Hope rekindled itself in her heart, and she could breathe without fighting for every breath, without shivering deep down to her core. The fire in her heart burned bright, chasing away her fears, turning the dark into an old, familiar friend, no longer an enemy, the dancing flames warming her whole body, right to the tips of her fingers.

She felt warm, and alive!

Distantly, she knew she should have been disgusted. She should have done something, pulled herself violently from his arms and fled. Should have hurt him, hit him, _stopped_ him. But that was the old her, that was how the old her would have treated the old him, but something had happened a while ago, and it had changed something inside her.

She had felt this way before. She had felt this love before, this warmth. Her _twin_ had made her feel warm.

She couldn't help the whisper that escaped her lips. "I love you, little brother!" Couldn't help the emotion in her voice. She'd missed her baby brother! She'd missed him so, so much! All she knew was that as soon as the words were uttered upon the stillness of the room, she no longer felt warm. The warmth had faded away and she couldn't see the way to get back to that fire, could see no faint glimmer of a warm glow on the horizon. Just pressing, suffocating, hopeless dark.

Her heart thudded painfully, fear rising inside her. Her eyes flew open and she noticed, suddenly, how quiet it was. Deathly quiet. Lyle wasn't holding her anymore, he was holding her at arm's length, a sad, painful look in his eyes.

A tear ran down his face. "I'm so sorry, darlin'!"

Sorry her brother was dead. Sorry he wasn't her brother. Sorry he wasn't the one she loved. The one she called 'little brother'.

She pushed him away from her and spun about crazily. What had she been thinking? He was an Empath! He'd done nothing more than manipulate her! He didn't want Emily, he wanted her. He'd always wanted her. And now it hurt him that she didn't want him back, that all she wanted was her little brother, her Theodore.

Oh, it hurt _him_!

She fled the room, hating herself, hating him, hating herself. She ran out the door and down the stairs. She didn't run to her car but left it where it was and just ran. She had to get away from this place, from _him_, from the horrible, horrible thing she'd said. The disgusting way she'd thrown herself into the monster's arms and surrendered.

She _had_ a brother. A living, breathing brother! His name was Ethan and he loved her, in his own way. He loved her and believed in her, believed in the goodness inside her. He'd never hurt her, would stick by her, always, and she'd given her heart away to another instead.

Who was the monster now?

She was, she was. She was – and it just _killed_ her!

She ran and couldn't stop. Stinging cold wind slapped at her face and her feet hurt so bad in her high heels, illy appropriate for running of any sort, and finally, the sky opened up and doused her in icy cold droplets, drenching right through her clothes and nestling against her trembling skin.

.

"Melody!"

The rain made everything shiny, made the quiet loud, turned the world upside down and made it pretty, even so. The rain stopped Melody from hearing him calling out to her, and on she went, on she went, her and the pain, her pain.

It was the only thing she'd let in, the pain. The pain was honest, always honest. Never lied to her, never spoke untruths, or tried to break her heart. Wouldn't laugh at her when she was down, when she was hurting, would only break the bad news because it was something you _needed_ to hear.

He tried his best to catch up to her, to just keep up with her, but she was fast. She's always been a good runner. Had never stopped to catch the sights when she was running, when she had a goal in mind. To catch her breath. She'd never needed to.

"Mel!"

Too far, still too far. He needed to catch up to her, stop her. She was going to hurt herself, and she probably wouldn't even care. He needed to help her. It was his fault. Stupid him. He shouldn't have said anything, should have stayed quiet. He was always doing things like that. Stupid, _stupid_ things. Always _hurting_ her.

It was all he ever dreamed of, that she cared, that she cared for him, that she felt something for him, that deep down, she knew, she knew!, and then he went and ruined it, went and threw it back in her face. He was always thinking of himself first, of his long-held secret. Clutching it so tightly as though he meant to die that way. No!, she couldn't discover him now – she couldn't _know_!

Why was he always hurting her, punishing her for things she couldn't help, shouldn't have had to help? She was his sister, he was her brother. They were twins! She couldn't help but feel this bond with him. Why did he have to make it worse, to torment her the way he did? Was it really all for her, to _save_ her, when it hurt her so, when it felt so much like damning her?

He had to stop and breathe. By goodness, his Mel was fast, was dedicated. "Mel!" He watched her disappear from sight, just wiggle in between two raindrops and blend into the falling rain, and pushed aside his own pain. He had to go after her. Where was she going in this rain, where was she even going? Did she even know herself? She didn't know this part of town, it wasn't her area.

He reached out and caught the heavy beating of her heart, the pain she was pretending she didn't feel, and ran. _Way to go, buddy! Way-to-go. Aren't you a champ?_

He caught sight of her halfway along the block, nearing the road. She didn't even bother to look around her, just kept on running; didn't bother to check if the road was clear. Inside the car, Maddie squealed and felt her heart stop clean. Her mom was pissed at her for being sick, pissed at her for being so ineffectual, for not donning a brave face and going to school anyway, for making her go out in this weather to run her by the doctor's, and she was driving too fast for the lousy weather. Faster even than regularly. Maddie could hardly watch, except – she couldn't look _away_! There was _no time_! She just knew her mom was going to clean up that crazy chick, wasn't going to be able to stop in time.

Lyle felt his heart stop right along with Maddie's.

Jenna slammed on the brakes, but the road was wet, streaming with water, and traction was low. The world moved by slowly, slowly enough that she thought the woman should be able to move clear of the car, but she didn't, she _couldn't_, and Jenna was suddenly frightened. Frightened she'd hit the woman and hurt her, probably even _kill_ her. Frightened her daughter would have to watch it happen, and so very frightened there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing she could do about her baby's hurting.

She barely even registered the sound of the tyres skidding across the road, failing to take hold, and then the car had come to a sudden stop and the woman was knocked off her feet onto the road. Jenna kicked open her car door and plunged out into the driving rain, running to the woman's side.

The woman was staring up at her strangely, her eyes fully lucid. She wasn't bloody, wasn't gored. She just stared.

Jenna clasped a hand to her throat, feeling the wild beating of her heart there, and then, distantly, she heard the sound of another car door slamming and Maddie was racing around the car, was down on her knees, kneeling on the road, talking to the woman, asking her if she knew what day it was, who the President was, who had written _Twilight_.

_Oh my God!_ Jenna thought, scarcely believing she could have been mad at her daughter earlier, angry at this wonderful, young person. Her child!

"I think I'm okay," the woman told Maddie, holding tightly to the girl's hands when she offered them, and Jenna stepped in quickly to help the woman to her feet along with her baby girl.

"I'm so bloody sorry!" Jenna said. "I just didn't see you." This was true, but if she'd killed the woman, the case would have been no different, but the woman would be dead. To her ears, 'I just didn't see you' sounded somehow so very inadequate. "We're going to the hospital. Maddie's not feeling well. Let me take you there to get checked out."

"Do you hurt?" Maddie asked urgently, the question so blindingly obvious Jenna couldn't believe she hadn't asked it herself.

"No," the woman replied. That wasn't strictly true: breathing stung like a bitch and her feet hurt something fierce, and now her bum hurt, too, but she didn't feel like sharing these things with these strangers. It wasn't that she hated them, it wasn't that she thought they didn't care, she just didn't feel like saying something like that. She wasn't a whiner, anyway.

A part of her brain was still processing the fact that she was still alive, that the car had stopped in time. It didn't seem possible.

The woman was leading her back to her car and the girl had just got in, slamming the door after her. And then something snapped into place. Tears sprang to her eyes but she didn't slide her gaze to the sidewalk, didn't dare look that way. Reapers had that ability, and even though Lyle wasn't a _proper_ Reaper, he'd found it inside himself to be one, just for today, just for a handful of seconds. A heartbeat, or two. To save _her_.

The tears ran down her face and she lingered in the rain, hoping the falling rain would wash away her tears, hoping these strangers would think it merely the rain on her face.

This didn't change a thing. Not a _thing_.

.

He watched the car drive away, heart thudding painfully, but somehow he felt lighter than seemed possible. Mel was okay, she wasn't hurt. She was okay.

His head hurt. He smiled at the pain. It was a good type of pain, it had helped him save Mel. For a moment, the pain was blinding, and when he looked again, the car was gone and Mel with it.

He hoped Maddie would be okay.

The rain hadn't let up at all and was coming down just as before, just as heavily. He turned slowly and his head hurt some more. He laughed. Oh, gosh, it really _hurt_. It wasn't funny really, but he couldn't really care. Mel was okay; he felt alive, felt strangely like himself, more like himself than he'd felt in a long time. Like he was truly, honestly Catherine's child.

Catherine had been telekinetic, too.

"Thank you, Catherine," he said quietly, because it hurt to speak louder, really meaning it, and then he laughed and still it hurt.

He walked back home through the rain and the cold wasn't so bad really.


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of the rain was heavy on the roof as Silvie tiptoed back into the bedroom she shared with Ezra and eased down at the edge of the bed.

"Where did you go so early in the morning?" he asked sleepily, opening his eyes to catch her gaze and reaching for her hand, clasping it in his own.

She let him hold her hand, glad for the warmth of his hands, and sighed. "Lucky's. He was being a right ass. I'm afraid I might've gone a bit overboard, all the same."

"No."

"Yeah, I did. I busted his silly glass bowl thing. Darcy got if for him, see. Yeah, _that_ Darcy! He's bound to be pissed at me for a couple months, at least, now. Now we're both pissed at each other. A right couple we'd make, eh?" She snorted. "I shouldn't have done that. It was special to him."

Ezra sat up and pulled her towards him, into his arms. He liked her there, in his arms. It was hard to believe he'd been so opposed to her in the beginning, even for him. Now, the old thoughts and suspicions didn't even register in his conciousness. "Ah, stuff him! He can buy another. He's got the money. Just tell me, how are you? You've calmed down now, haven't you?"

She sniffed, snuggling into his embrace. Her reply was weary, but audible. "Yep."

"Well, that's all I care about. That you're alright. Your dad can go and toss himself, if that's what he feels like. Just as long as you're okay."

.

Sitting in Grace Miller, waiting for someone to call her name, Parker couldn't help thinking of Edna, Raines's first wife, Annie and Sam's mother. She'd liked Edie. A lot. Edie had been nice to her, had never hurt herself the way Catherine had; hadn't ever scared her. She'd felt safe with Edie. Edie had worked at Grace, they even had a ward named after her. She'd been a paediatric doctor.

Suppressing a sigh, Parker glanced at her watch. She should have been getting into work, but here she was instead. Outside, it was raining as hard as ever. After yesterday's weather, this sort of downpour, and the accompanying chill that went along with it, was unthinkable.

Well, stuff it if she got into work late, Parker thought. As long as she got in _alive_.

.

Though he knew he shouldn't have been as pleased as this, Sydney couldn't quite ignore the fact that he was, in fact, quite pleased. It was unusual for him. He, of all people, knew just how unusual. Even when Jacob had been alive, he just hadn't been the happy, excited type. Well, he could well have been as a boy, but beyond that, no, he'd never been so, and he could hardly even remember his early childhood anyway. Could hardly even remember his mother's grandmother, who'd been looked upon disdainfully by his father because she'd been a gypsy and hadn't always agreed with his father's concept of medicine and the sorts.

Jacob hadn't liked her much, had always conveniently developed a blood nose when she'd shown up to take them out walking in the forest, but no, Sydney had liked her. The way he remembered it, very vaguely, she'd seemed to him not much older than his mother. She certainly hadn't come across as old enough to be anyone's great-grandmother. But she had been.

And then, for no particular reason one year, when the memory of her had become quite distant in Sydney's mind, she had died. His mother had been inconsolable. He hadn't even cried, though he could just about remember walking with her through the forest, could just about remember her holding his hand, and that tiny thing making the world of difference in his mind, making the forest into something exciting, something to be explored, rather than a big, old scary bunch of trees and shadows hiding who knew what cunning, devilish creatures and their hungry stomachs.

His memories of that time were starting to come back to him now that he was older, were moving into sharper focus, and he realised that yes, he had been happy in the forest with his great-grandmother. They'd been happy together, and she'd had curly hair too, just like him. Sometimes, he'd gotten a bit mixed up and imagined she was his mother instead of the sad, frowning woman back home, but he hadn't worried about it. He'd never worried about it. In a way, she had been his mother, hadn't she?

He was going to see Darcy at lunch, that was what he was so looking forward to. In fact, he really had no way of knowing whether she really _was_ Darcy O'Hara; there were no pictures of her on her Website or in the backs of her novels, smiling and almost looking a million bucks, and a clever person might have been able to snoop on their emails to one another and bring over quite a convincing version of the writer, but it almost didn't matter to him. He was going out to have lunch with someone. When was the last time he'd done that?

Michelle still spoke to him quite often, over the telephone, but they were no longer a couple and hadn't been for a good many years, and she was always a little guarded, a little casual, with her conversation. But then, she'd been the same way when they'd been together. As to Nicholas and he, they only now met up once a month. Nicky had a girl now, Corbin, whom he sometimes still called Bookie, from her old school days, which was how they'd first me, back when she'd been his student and he'd been her teacher, and they were thinking about starting a family – and there was a lot to think about.

Sydney wasn't upset about it anymore, at the idea of his son dating one of his former students, but he could see that Nicky was moving away from him, starting a life of his own for real, this time, and he wasn't too keen on that life involving the Centre.

Sydney understood perfectly the rationale there. As a Reaper, and a child of a once T-Corp employee, one couldn't just relax when around the Centre, even if one's parent had been playing for both teams at different times. The double agent was really a friend to none, as Michelle (or was it Mandy Alice?) knew very well.

Sydney wasn't terribly worried. He knew Nicky and Parker still met up for a coffee and a chat just as often as he and his son did, and though he didn't understand exactly why – something from her old T-Corp days, he imagined, when Mandy Alice had been one of her trainers – he was glad that Nicholas had made a friend, and that Parker had someone to call a friend, too. Glad that it was his Nicky, who was really quite decent a guy.

He never asked Nicholas what they talked about, and Nicholas never asked him what Parker and he talked about, so it was fair enough.

He glanced up from some paperwork he was trying to get done when he heard a knock at his door and stood up when he saw Parker had casually let herself in.

"It's a little rough out there, eh?" she commented, shrugging in her winter coat. "Anyway, I'm here. What's shakin', bacon? Any leads? Juicy gossip?"

"You're late."

"Ah... no, I'm just fashionable! You are mistaken, sir, I do so do that with cunning calculation. It is, my dear, so that you will miss me, and thus, when I make my grand entrance, I will be adored by all." She laughed. "Yes, late. Guilty as charged. But, oo-la-la," gesturing to herself, "I am here now. Gossip, now. What's been happening while I was out making like a delinquent?"

"Why were you late?"

"Late night, my dear." She stifled a yawn with a hand. "I only wish with a man friend. Oh, and if you see Lyle, ignore him. I hate him."

"I see."

"Hate, hate, hate him. Whilst you're ignoring him, you should probably throw your coffee on him accidentally, too."

"Violent."

"Deserves it, but. And I'm not just saying that. He just will never give it a rest with the- loony shit!"

"Is that right?" Sydney asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Too bloody right. I hate him."

"You did say."

"I know."

She glanced at his phone, nodding to the flashing light, and started off for the door, backing off backwards with a wave of her hand. Well, she'd be off now, and he'd probably want to be getting that before whoever it was got annoyed.

.

"Yes. Mmm. I see what you're saying."

Parker smirked, highly doubting that. They were in a meeting – about _Jarod_ – and Courtland was blathering on about the importance of getting to the Pretender before anyone else did, namely their rivals, or those irritating Alabamans. Right now, he was prattling on about some nonsense to Raines, who was obviously making a good show of listening to him whilst not really listening to him, too busy trying not to smile at his wife on the other side of the glass wall with her hands on her hips. She wanted to talk to him, in fact, and she wasn't too fussed about Courtland, either.

"Mmm-hmm."

Parker put a hand up to her mouth and coughed to hide her smile. Oh, so subtle.

Mark, the Tower jerk, shot her a weird look and shifted his chair further from hers, as though thinking she was for real and she was sick with something he might stand the chance of catching, robot or not.

Lyle poured her a glass of water and passed it to her silently, not bothering to look her way as he was too busy frowning at whatever Courtland was going on about.

Right, he wasn't a big friend of Allan, she remembered, reaching for her glass and dragging it towards her slowly – and earning another glare from Robot Mark.

"If I might interrupt," Lyle began.

Courtland waved a dismissive hand at him. "Quiet, Parker."

Parker resisted the urge to poke her tongue out at him. Yeah, quiet her. Bleh, she hadn't even said anything. She snickered silently to herself. Parker was _her_ name, not that overstuffed, over-egoed creep's. Hers. All hers!

And nobody told a Parker to pipe down – not even Mister Chairman!

She coughed again. "Pardon me for interrupting, Allan, but what the jolly _feck_ do you know about any of our rivals?"

Courtland shut up and glared at her, going a bit red.

"Miss Parker, that is hardly the appropriate way to speak to your chairman," Mark admonished.

"Can it, buster!" she told him offhandedly. "Boy might be insane as all heck, but he ain't invisible, so you all can just quit treating him like he is. Okey-dokey?"

Mark shook his head at her in disappointment.

"Oh, boo! What's that, Mark, are you giving me the Evil Eye?" She pointed a finger at him, glancing around wildly and catching Courtland's eye. "He's not one o' them T-Corp folk, is he? We're all one hundred percent sure 'bout that, aren't we?" She shot to her feet roughly, glaring at Mark angrily. "Think you can hex me, you little weasel!"

"Parker. It's fine."

Parker ignored Lyle and shook her head. "You should have that one looked at, Allan. I'm telling you. He has the shifty eyes; you can't trust him. He's up to something, that one is."

Courtland sighed heavily. "Now, Melanie-"

"Wait, you're not my Daddy! What the fuck!"

"I'd like you to just take a moment and calm down," Courtland finished.

"He doesn't care about Blue Cove. He's Tower, in 'e! Only one he cares about is himself, Fantastic Bloody Mark!"

"_Miss_ Parker!"

She glared at Courtland. "Why are you talking to _him_?" she demanded, now glaring at Raines too. "He's not on Jarod's Retrieval Team. _I_ am! You should be talking to _me_!"

"Obviously, you were not following a word of what I was saying to Doctor-"

"Whatever! I need a coffee." She shoved her chair away from her and stalked out of the room.

Courtland pointed after her, shooting Lyle a very unhappy look. "Talk to her! She's _your_ bloody sister!"

"Sir."

Courtland shook his head in disappointment. What the Hell was wrong with those two lately? Was it just some funny phase of the moon or what? "I swear to _God_, those two should have been separated from the moment they were born!" he huffed. "They are just no good for each other!"

Raines didn't say anything, but the little glimmer in his eyes said he wasn't too pleased about Courtland's comment, either.

.

Parker spun around in the corridor and glared at Lyle. "Why are you following me, creep?"

"Courtland said I was to."

"Ew! Allan said so! I'm so in love with Allan baby!" she mocked.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Lyle shook his head. Not bloody likely; he couldn't stand the guy.

"Fuck off," Parker told him seriously.

"I'm to talk to you. I can't very well do that whilst I'm off someplace else, now can I?"

"Well, I don't want to _listen_ to you!"

"Like I could care less," he replied darkly.

Parker got out her gun, pointing it at him. "I will shoot you, freak!"

"Mmm, do it. At least I'll have an excuse then. Go on," he shot her a wink, "I dare ya!"

Fulton came stomping over and grabbed Parker's arm, pointing the gun down at the floor. "Nobody is going to be shooting nobody, missy! This is not the frigging OK-Corral, you hear!"

"Hear? Hear what?" Parker asked vaguely, putting her gun away all the same.

Fulton grabbed her arm. "Come with me!"

Parker shot a disturbed look Lyle's way. "Help, brother! She's trying to abduct me! She might be one o' them aliens!"

"Sure," Lyle replied, walking after them.

"Don't you believe in aliens? Hang on, you were so a subscriber!"

"So, so, so!"

"Which means what exactly?" she asked over her shoulder, as Fulton dragged her by the arm down the corridor.

"You should ask them aliens. I sorta forget. Or is that the brainwashing starting to kick in?"

She poked her tongue out at him. "Geek!" To Fulton, she asked, "Where are we going, Mommy?"

"Away from that moron Courtland!"

"I like it."

.

"Oh, Kyle was not in Naomi!" Parker ranted later, when the meeting had broken up and Sydney and Broots had come by the coffee room. "That's _bull_shit! Oh, sure, they've got super massive hot babes and they're going to trick Jarod into joining them that way!" she mocked cutely. "Crap, now I'm tremblin' in my boots! Uh-ha! Uh-ha!" Sounding confused suddenly, "What boots?"

Raines reached over and took her mug of coffee off her. "We should go easy on this stuff, Miss Parker."

"Oi! Give it the Hell back, fake Daddy!"

He sighed heavily and handed her her cup back, as per her loud request. "We really don't know what Kyle was or was not involved in, now do we?"

Parker grabbed a biscuit from the cookie jar and threw it at Lyle. "He does!"

"I'm sure," Raines replied.

"Give me back my cookie, idiot!"

"If you want it, come and get it," Lyle told her. "And I know nothing of the sort, thanks."

"What?" she asked thickly. "But aren't you, like, this awesome wonderful Empath who knows everything about everything?"

"No, I think you're mistaking me with Mark," he replied evenly.

She snorted. "The robot wishes! Why don't you know? You were in love with him."

"And he wasn't in love with me. Like he'd tell me jack. In whose fantasies?"

"Some Empath you turned out to be, boy."

"Now you're starting to get the picture."

She laughed falsely. "Give me my cookie."

He passed it back to her. She was lucky he'd caught it too, or else it'd be making nice on the floor right now, or under Fulton's shoe. The woman had not stopped pacing since Raines and the others had shown up.

She walked around the table and grabbed Raines's arm. "I want to talk to you."

He held his hands up. "Okay, okay. Just give me a break, and give it a rest with the glare, woman. As if Allan's ranting wasn't bad enough."

Sydney laughed darkly. Actually, it had been.

Raines and Fulton walked off, leaving Parker to chew her biscuit in silence. "Why would the idiot think something like that?" she asked Sydney. "I bet he never even met Mad Kyle."

"I don't think he did either. But that's beside the point. We're no longer concerned with Kyle. It's Jarod who is the worry."

"Yeah, sure – our baby!"

"The Chairman seems to think so."

Parker rolled her eyes. "Arrogant bastard. Shit, yeah he's ours, but fuck Courtland. Just fuck 'im. He doesn't care less about Jarod, or this company. He's in league with that lunatic Mark. All he cares about is his pay packet," she did a withering girly voice, "and his precious, little _reputation_!"

"Isn't that all anyone cares about around here?" Broots asked.

Parker glared at him. "Stuff you, asshole!" she hissed.

Broots made a face, offended. What the Hell was she on about now? Was she with the company or what, or was she now playing at Cathy's baby darl daughter?

"Jarod is ours, not Allan's! He belongs to Blue Cove!" Parker growled. "I can just see that traitor Allan turning him over to Africa once we're done busting our asses bringing him back in."

Lyle laughed. "Like Hell he will, Sis!"

"Yeah, but he still will, the bastard! All he's about is himself. Career advancement!"

"And they'd mess Jarod up even more than Blue Cove ever did."

"Exactly!" Parker growled.

"You see what has to happen here, Sis? Courtland needs to go."

Parker laughed. "Why don't you off him then?"

Lyle shook his head. "_I_ can't. You can't. There's nobody looking out for you now, and if they ever got word it'd been you: big trouble, girl. Has to be somebody else."

"Can we stop saying this shit?" Broots asked uncomfortably. "They could be listening in to everything we're saying, you do realise?"

"Upgraded, baby," Lyle replied. "Doubtful. I ain't gettin' nothing. They jus' too cheap to do this thing proper-like."

Broots glared at him. "You're not supposed to be messing with those things!"

"Just you try an' stop me, Ezzie."

Broots glared at him harder, saying nothing.

"Aw, you're my best friend!"

"I'd rather shove you under a bus right now, actually," Broots muttered darkly.

Lyle ignored him. "Sis, finish your coffee. Jarod's not gonna be going anywhere near Tamera, you'll see."

She scowled and grabbed her coffee, glaring at it. If Courtland even tried anything of the sort, she'd be on the phone to the High Chairman in a wink. No, she didn't know the woman's phone number, but she'd damn well find it out. Even if she had to seance with the dead and that insane rotting corpse, Alex.

She'd do it!

She kicked Lyle in the leg under the table. "Tamera! You idiot!"

.

Marcia, the Chairman's personal assistant, glanced dubiously at Lyle. "Why do you want to see him again, dear? He's a very busy man, as you know."

"You see, his fiancee and I are very good friends – Oh, we go waaay back, we two do – and I just thought we could, you know, chat. Hayley's been a bit down lately." He smiled at her nicely. Yes, it was all very sad, and poor, poor Hayley, being so down and all.

She pressed a button on her phone and picked up the receiver. "Allan, if you please, that _man_ is here to see you." She glared frostily at Lyle. "He'll be out in just a moment."

"You're positively precious."

"I think I'm gonna puke," she muttered under her breath.

.

"To a greater extent, which way would you say she's leaning? Does she trust you or not?"

"Yeah, we're getting there. I think she does. So far so good."

"Well, that's a relief to hear." Courtland sighed. "And what are her thoughts on Naomi?"

"Laughable. She's thinks it's laughable that you'd even consider Kyle as having been a part of that operation. I can see where she's coming from, though. He was far too mentally unstable. They'd have been much more careful than to ever recruit someone like that."

"You think so?"

"Absolutely," Lyle replied. "And it makes sense, given how little we know of them. They're obviously smart and they don't open themselves up for undue scrutiny, for a disaster waiting to happen, which was what Kyle was, in reality."

"Well, in that case, keep up the good work. And keep me posted."

"Don't I always?" Lyle asked.

"She's got to know something. Even if she doesn't know it herself."

"I fully agree."

Courtland nodded. "I thought you would. You're not as stupid as you look."

Lyle laughed. "No. Do I really?"

"You have your moments."

He smiled. "Yeah."

.

Lyle winked at Marcia on the way out of her office. "Catch you later, cutie!"

"Oh, just _die_ already!" she muttered in a low voice, not in the least impressed.

.

Darla met him as he was making his way to the elevator to pop down to Tech Space on SL-5, picking a leaf out of her hair. "Mmm, we should talk, you and I."

"Yeah?"

"Right away."

"Go right ahead, darls."

"I heard you and the other half got a blasting from the Chairman this morning."

"And you've come to kiss it better, have you?"

She gave him a dirty look. "Fuck no! I came to ask you if you've got a fucking death wish."

"Always. Why do you ask? I thought you didn't care."

"I don't," she replied, annoyed. Which wasn't at all true. She didn't like having to play these stupid games with him. Bobby had never been this way, so why was he? It was infuriating and it slightly made her skin crawl. If she hadn't been able to feel that they were the same person, she wouldn't be so sure.

Then again, she reminded herself silently, he was a much higher Class of Empath than her. He might well have been having one over her, might have been having one over her all these years. Maybe he really, truly _wasn't_ Bobby.

She pushed the disturbing thought away. Of course he was, he had Bobby's eyes. "Any luck on the old case?" she asked, to distract herself from her troubling thoughts.

"None so far. Perhaps you could pop by mine and we could have a proper little sleepover, see if we can't catch a break on this thing? What say you, Darla? Yay, nay?"

"Maybe another time," she replied. "You know me; just hate to slum it."

"Oh, come on! I'm only a Class lower than you. That's not so bad, is it?"

"These things matter to a material girl," she returned evasively, smiling at him sweetly.

He reached over and picked another leaf out of her hair, one she'd obviously missed. "I understand. Completely."

Darla smiled back at him, but something about the way he looked at her unnerved her. She tried not to let it bother her, and tapped the face of her watch. "Places to be."

"Yeah, bye."

She strolled off, suppressing a sigh of relief as she rounded the corner up ahead. They said he was a Reaper, he'd probably hear her sigh and guess her game in one. And she really didn't need that. She needed him on her side; it was the only way this thing could work. He was, after all, the one with the upgrades. She could mess with people's heads as much as she liked, but she couldn't fool with the cameras. That was one thing she couldn't do. Only he could.

It had taken a lot of work getting to the stage where she was able to insert herself into an everyday routine with Blue Cove, before she'd been able to honestly, really come to work here. Henry's people had planted one of their people here a year and a half back, and now he happened to be one of the Sweepers working in the security room, but that wouldn't last forever. Rosters changed, designations changed. And if anything happened whilst she was about, and they discovered she wasn't who she'd made herself out to be, she'd be in some serious do-do. Serious, _dangerous_ do-do.

Lyle being a high-Class Empath was a definite help, but being upgraded also had it benefits. If he knew what he was doing, and how to properly manipulate the system. And she figured he'd had wasted no time in figuring out just how to do that. He'd always been a little rebellious-minded, even back when he hadn't shown it to _anyone_. It had been laying in wait, always laying in wait.

She just hoped he settled down and didn't expect anything untoward of her for his co-operation. She felt sort of like throwing up just from the little show of a few moments ago, but she knew things could get worse – a Hell of a lot worse.

And when they fell apart, they _really_ fell apart!

.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to be working things out, not making them worse. But how could he possibly do that when everyone else was acting certifiable, and he just had to play along to seem like one of the team?

He sat down in the corner of the elevator and listened to Cathy telling Sydney about her day, a sad little note in her voice. Sydney pulled her closer for a hug and she told herself she felt better. Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. She still hadn't told him what she'd meant to tell him more than a week ago, and it was getting harder and harder each day she put it off.

She cared about him, honestly. How could she go on misleading him like this, letting him think the child she was carrying was really her husband's. It was cruel and she'd never thought of herself as cruel before.

Maybe she just hadn't known herself very well. The thought sent a shiver through her and she huddled closer to Sydney, praying it wasn't true. The bad feeling she'd been having all week wasn't getting better, not even here, in Sydney's arms, and it frightened her beyond her capacity for words. She had barely slept all week, worrying over that feeling, hoping with everything in her that it didn't mean something awful for her unborn baby. Charming's lil boy had already been taken from her, and William said he had a fair idea who'd been the ones behind that, too, but she just couldn't think of anyone hurting her baby.

William would sort it out, surely. He'd said as much, said he meant to get Charms her little boy back and stuff the company. Yes, maybe she'd made some mistakes in the past, maybe she hadn't paid him any mind when he'd expressly warned her, but she was still a friend, still family, and family stuck together to the very end.

Catherine refrained from wiping at her eyes and tried her very utmost to relax. Sydney always knew when something wasn't right with her anyway. She had no idea how, but he always did. She'd always thought it sort of cute, in the past, sort of romantic, now it just hurt. It hurt, most of all, because when something was hurting her it hurt him too, and she'd never wanted that, she'd never wanted to hurt him.

He was her family now, they were having a baby, and she'd be so very excited, if she could just get the words out to tell him. If she could just say how much she cared that he cared.

"I'll make it better," Lyle told her. "I will. I won't let them hurt Mel. I promise."

She didn't even look at him. Her world wasn't his world. This had all been a lifetime ago, before he'd even been born, before anyone had even known he'd existed.

For the time being, they were coasting on the calm before the storm. But the storm always broke, in the end. The storm always came to pass, and then it was time to look at the world anew, through storm-stung eyes, time to salvage what one could.

And begin again.

.

"Do you think we'll be able to manage a vacation this year? I've done some looking at the numbers and it all seems promising. The kids would be over-the-moon, if we could."

"There's no reason for us not to," William agreed. "Did you have anywhere in particular in mind? North Dakota?"

Cherice tilted her head. "Oh, no!" She had no wish to return to her home state, or her hometown. Absolutely not. She wanted to go somewhere nice, tranquil. Somewhere she could unwind, take in the scenery, the kids could appreciate nature.

She was sitting on his desk and she really shouldn't have been doing that. He always disliked when she did that. Right now, though, she couldn't really care. She tugged her husband closer and rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm just tired."

"Why? Is it the kids?" William stroked her hair. It was longer now since she'd stopped working and he found he didn't mind it being that way. She didn't like it, of course. It was forever getting in her face, in her eyes and sticking in the corners of her mouth, but it gave him a convenient excuse to touch her face, to brush it away.

"I don't know why," she answered. "It's probably just the weather, you know."

"Yes." The weather had been all over the place lately, more so than the year last.

She leant away from him, looking down at her lap. Was her dress too short? She'd never thought it so before, but sitting on her husband's desk now, she wondered. Did it annoy William that she dressed the way she did? Maybe she was being unfair on him, but she just didn't know. They'd been married over five years, and she didn't know.

It seemed ridiculous that she wouldn't know.

He lifted her chin with a finger and she reluctantly met his eyes, always a little taken aback by their blueness. Her parents had had brown eyes, she had brown eyes. Brown was just a much more comforting colour than blue, warmer, somehow, easier to trust.

When he leant closer and kissed her, she really didn't know what to make of it. Oh, they did that now, did they? Well, they never had before, and it felt... strange. The last time she could clearly remember them kissing was also the first time, at their wedding.

Her stomach did a strange little cartwheely thing of which she was instantly distrustful. Was she hungry, or just nervous. And no wonder! Boy, this kissing thing was really dragging on, and, mmm, why was she... why was she...? Oh crap! She _liked_ him kissing her.

_He is your husband, dear_, a part of her reminded her, the other part none too happy. _What are you talking about? I thought you'd grasped the concept of a _ruse_ by now? What part of _mortal enemy_ is hard for you to understand?_

She pulled him closer and wrapped her legs around him and kissed him back. Oh well, as long as it was part of the ruse, who said she couldn't have a little fun now and then?

.

Parker glared at her paperwork, wanting to rip it to tiny little shreds instead of put pen to paper and _finish_ it. She felt like shit and the whole world was shit right along with her. Everything was fucking shit!

She got up from her desk, kicking her chair back so that it rolled away and smacked into the wall behind her, and walked to her door. Lunchtime. Yeah, baby!

Swinging open her door with a glee she'd previously thought had abandoned her, she leapt out of her office door and bounded after Sydney. "You having fun yet? I know I am! I am having so much fun!"

"The sarcasm in your voice says otherwise," Sydney replied.

She poked her tongue out at him. "I'm always sarcastic. It's my thing. I don't know how to _not_ be sarcastic. My bad!"

"Mmm-hm."

She grinned. "So what's for lunch? Chicken and chips, fruit salad! Mmm!"

Since when? "Actually, I'm going into town today."

Parker froze, grabbing his arm. "Why? Can I come? Who are you going with? Is it a lady? Is she hot? How old is she? Do I see babies in the future?"

"I don't believe it's any of your business, actually," he told her. He didn't have the time to play games with her, he had somewhere to be. He realised he might have come off as a little direct, but he couldn't worry about that now. Parker wasn't a little girl anymore, in any case.

She stared at him. "Is it a _man_?"

"Oh, don't you start too! Now you sound just like Cherry!"

"Hey? What? I do not. Cherry's blonde. Do I look blonde to you? And she's a nurse! She gets to wear that hot nurse uniform I can only _dream _of wearing, and hitting on men with..."

Having some trouble figuring out her train of thought, he decided to give up on the idea and simply said, "Relax, Parker, it is strictly business."

Without picking up on his careful use of her name sans Miss, she pulled a glum look. "That's what they all say."

"Well, this time, it happens to be true."

She poked her tongue out at him again. "If you keep ignoring me like this, I might have to do something drastic. Scary drastic. Like making friends with Creep Lyle."

"I was under the impression the two of you were getting along nicely as it was."

"You forgot I hate him! How could you forget already?"

Sydney hated to get into this with her, and further incite her, but he just couldn't help it. "If you hate him so much, why were you sticking up for him this morning?"

"That's different. Courtland was dissing my name. Yeah right! Like I _wouldn't_ say something!"

"It's just a name, Parker."

She rolled her eyes. "No it isn't. It's my name, okay!"

"I hear you. Do you think you could let go of my arm now, just possibly?"

She pouted sadly and let him have his arm back. "You better tell me all about it when you get back," she told him, pointing a finger at him sharply, deep red fingernails glinting brightly in the artificial lighting.

As if. "Of course."

She crossed her arms and turned away swiftly, "Have fun or whatever," she said vaguely, and strolled away.

He sighed and turned away too, wondering why she was going that way when the elevators were the other way. Maybe she'd changed her mind about lunch. And of course, that would be his fault too, he supposed. Great. Wonderful. Just lovely.

He kept walking, no longer feeling so happy about going to meet Darcy.

.

Parker stomped off to her office and closed the door behind her, making sure to lock it also, and stomped over to her desk, grabbing her chair away from the wall and throwing herself down in it. She felt like shit all over again.

Glaring at her paperwork, she closed her eyes and wished this day would just be over already.

A knock on the door fifteen minutes later made her open her eyes and glare at the door. She got up out of her chair and walked over, not so much as reaching for the lock. "Who the hell is it and what do you want?"

"Who do you think it is, Sis? Are you not hungry now?"

She poked her tongue out at the door and reached for the lock, pulling the door open with a little too much force. "What do you want, idiot?" she growled.

"I brought you a sandwich," he said, offering it to her.

"I don't _want_ a sandwich," she replied obstinately, refusing to take it. She stepped out of the way of the door and waited for him to come inside before slamming it carelessly after her.

He left the sandwich on her desk, frowning a little when he looked at her.

"There's nothing wrong with me," she growled.

"There never is, I've noticed."

She was across the room faster than he could blink, glaring at him deathly. "What the fuck are you saying, loser?"

"I'm saying you need to calm down and actually talk to people, instead of just _at_ them."

"Oh! Oh, you mean... to people like _you_?" she mocked.

"Not necessarily me, no. Just people in general. You're... you're deliberately isolating yourself from the outside world and that's not good. You can't just live in this _bubble_ you've been existing in for the last-"

"Shut up," she said plainly, staring at him as though she couldn't decide whether to smack him over the face now or later.

"It's not healthy," he replied, before she stopped him, or slapped him.

She laughed in his face. And he was just the picture of health, wasn't he? The _picture_!

"You have to eat something, even if you're not hungry." He turned around to grab her sandwich off her desk and hand it to her, but when he turned back around, she was standing much too close, and then she kissed him. The sandwich slipped out of his hands and made a beeline directly for the floor.

He pushed her away from him, holding her away from him whilst trying to hold back a look of horror, afraid he'd only alienate her more. "Clair, for heaven's sakes!"

She stared at him darkly. "I know you're not David, so you can just shove that crap where it fits, Lyle!"

Fuck it! Why did she have to make this hard for him? And why did she have to look at him like that, with those eyes? He'd spent years coming to terms with the fact that a look like the one she was giving him right now wasn't all bad, really learning not to distrust the whole idea of sexual desire, and now she did this? And he was bloody terrified, and he wanted to disappear, or just die. And she was his _sister_!

She leant closer again, but he held her away from him, fighting the urge to run, just run. He may still be able to get away, even if she _was_ faster than him. She wasn't so good around the corners.

She blew up, shouting at him. "Why the Hell did you stop that car from running me flat if you didn't want me?"

"I... I do want you," he whispered. "I want you to be my friend. My sister! I don't... I don't want this!"

She glared at him hatefully, as though, this time, she really meant it. "Don't try to deny it," she growled, "you've wanted me for _years_!"

"Mel?" It was Mel, right? It had to be her. It _felt_ like her. "I was wrong. I've changed. I know now that... that it was very wrong of me to want you in that way. You're my sister."

"No I'm not," she countered, her tone like ice.

Oh, fuck! Now what was he supposed to say? What could he say that wouldn't just construe in her mind as a cop-out? "There's someone else now. I... I told you about her, do you remember? I think I really... really like her." He was trying not to lose it completely, but this was Mel! _His_ Mel!

"You're an asshole!"

"I'm sorry."

Mel was a nice person, she wasn't mean like this. But her eyes were mean. Chilling.

"You shouldn't say things you don't mean," she told him coldly.

"I do mean it. I do. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for... for... how I treated you, and for..."

"You said you love me."

_Stop it, stop being afraid_, he told himself. _This is Mel. She's not like this. Something is wrong. You're not helping her. Why don't you _help_ her? Stop only thinking of yourself for a second and think about Mel._ "I don't," he told her, more confidently now. "I lied. I don't love you. Never did. There is a vast, _vast_ difference between loving someone and just wanting them. You're a grown-up, you know that. A world of difference. _Come on_, I was playing you! The same as I do everyone else. I don't love you, and I certainly don't want you. Not anymore. I want someone else now. Hmm?" He slowly let go of her arms, hoping like Hell she didn't try anything again. "What's really going on, darlin'? You can tell me."

She hit him over the face. Painfully. Laughing. "You call yourself a _man_!" she spat at him disgustedly.

It was one of those Pretender things. They were just pushing her too hard. That was what it was, he told himself. Mel didn't really mean to say such awful things, she just couldn't help herself, couldn't stop herself. And he _was_ a man.

She grabbed a handful of his hair, her eyes bright. "What girl? Tell me her name? What does she look like? Is she pretty?"

The pain didn't mean a thing anymore, didn't matter at all. He could feel himself slowly losing the battle. Mel was winning, impressing her will upon him. He could feel it happening. At that moment, he thought it was the most disturbing, most horrible thing he'd ever felt. Poor Mel. She didn't know how wrong she was, how _unwell_ she was. He had to help her, but he was losing all concept of the notion, it was leaving, too fast to grab it back and hold onto it. He thought of Emily, held tight to that feeling. Emily was the only one he felt like that about, the only one he wanted that way. Just Emily. She was his plus-one, and he was hers.

Parker smiled. "Aren't you going to tell me, baby? Or have you forgotten already?"

"Mel, snap out of it," he told her seriously. He had to be firm about it, because otherwise she wouldn't even hear what he was saying.

"What's her name?" she growled, looking like she wanted to rip shreds off whoever this other woman was when she got her hands on her.

He put a shaky hand on her chest, over her heart. "It's okay, Melody," he said gently. "You can come back now, sweetheart. Nobody's mad at you; we just miss you. You can come back now, baby. Won't you come back to us?"

The light over their heads broke with a sharp shattering sound and shards of glass went everywhere.

"Melody, we'd like to talk to you. You know it isn't the same without you. Can't you come back now?"

"Stop saying that!" she growled, snarling at him. "You have no right to call me by that name! My name is _Melanie_!"

"Yes, it is." There was no way she didn't have a safe word. Just no way! Pretenders were _always_ appointed a safe word as part of their training. If he could just figure out her safe word, maybe he could get through to her.

"Why are you calling me that stupid, baby's name? Do I look like a baby to you?"

"Not at all. You most definitely do not. You look like a woman."

"_Now_ you notice!"

"We're good, Melanie. We're friends, right?"

"You! You're a real piece of work! _Friends!_" She laughed.

"Her name's Mimi. The woman I like, I want more than you. That's her name. Mimi. It's Mimi!"

Parker stopped laughing, the colour slowly evaporating from her face. Then she punched him. Seriously. And she _meant_ it to hurt!

"Sis, ouch. That _hurt_!" he complained. She looked sort of... strange, but that was just the whack to the head talking. Actually, she looked like she wanted to murder him with her bare hands. Maybe it wasn't _just_ the pain talking.

"What did you say?"

"You didn't have to punch me so hard!"

"I'll kill you!"

"_Jesus_, woman! Settle down."

"_What did you say?_" she spat, doing a fair impression of a Reaper's growl. He'd noticed she liked to do that when she meant to be imposing, when she meant to spell out her intent to aggress _exactly_. Without a doubt, she'd picked it up at Sin Eleeswa.

"You, girly, are much too violent. You've really got to learn to stick a lid on it."

She grabbed his hair and yanked on it. And then she stopped. "I... I forgot that was my safe word," she said strangely.

He resisted the urge to touch his head, even though it hurt. Patting it wasn't going to stop it hurting, anyway. "Now that you mention it, I've forgotten my safe word too," he said, with a little laugh, and a smile.

She glared at him. "You're not a Pretender, fucktard!"

"So I'm not." He smiled at her again, studiously ignoring the way he was breathing just a little too heavily. His head still hurt.

Parker bent down and picked her sandwich up off the floor, glaring at it in its clear-view plastic package. Redirecting her glare to his face, she pointed a finger at him warningly. "I'll forgive you just this once!" she growled. "If I ever – _ever_ – hear you say that name again – I'll kill you where you stand! Now get the fuck out of my office before I change my mind!"

He didn't wait up for that to happen.

.

Frankie stopped in the corridor as he was passing him, frowning. "What happened to your..?" He touched his cheek illustratively.

"What happened to it?" Lyle asked, touching his own cheek. Ugh, blood. It'd probably been the light in Mel's office, the sharp, very thin glass. "The light in the photocopier room busted again. Ah, it's always something!"

"Let's... let's _not_ get into that discussion!" Frankie said, putting his hands up.

Lyle smiled. "Your television set?"

"Empaths!" Frankie laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, the bloody TV. Argh! But we're not talking about that. You should go get that cleaned up."

"I'm alright. Reaper, remember. We Heal quick."

"I don't see it Healing."

"It will."

"Go clean it with out some water at least."

"Right away, doctor!"

Frankie shook his head again and walked off, on his way back to Med Space after lunch. Cherry and Plum appeared in the corridor a moment later, chatting about stuff. They waved as they walked by but didn't say anything, buying his Glamour without a second thought.

He walked off to the bathroom and washed the blood off his face, staring at himself in the mirror. Didn't he have Mel's eyes, almost exactly? Couldn't she see that? His chest hurt. He felt like crying. Sometimes he wished he could have been hideous instead; if he'd been ugly, nobody would have looked at him twice. But then they wouldn't have thought him worth shit, either, and he'd have gotten nowhere; he'd be no-one, even though that was more or less how he felt now, anyway. Like no-one. The only difference was, some people still cared about him. Emily loved him.

Or maybe he'd have rather have _been_ no-one.

He looked away from the mirror, taking deep breaths. He was _not_ going to cry. He _refused_.

The world started to go a bit fuzzy, it might have been snowing, or something, everything went strangely red and yellow – was that a frickin' _clown_? In the men's bathroom, yeah _right_! – and then just black. He swayed, wanting to throw his guts up and faint at the same time. Oh shit! He hadn't eaten anything and now his diabetes was chucking up a fuss.

He closed his eyes, leaning against the counter heavily. Lunch was almost over, but stuff it, he still had to eat. When he got out of here, he was going straight to the dining hall.

.

She was a very pretty woman. Sydney couldn't help but notice. Probably about his age, maybe a few years younger, but doing alright for her age, and pretty. Still very pretty. Her long dark hair was shiny and tangle-free, and complimented her pale complexion and blue eyes nicely. Surprisingly, she had a very comfortable aura about her; he couldn't feel uncomfortable around her. If they'd met face to face the first time they'd ever spoken, he was sure he wouldn't have said half the things he had. He simply couldn't have been that nasty to her face.

She wasn't at all what he'd imagined. She was actually quite cool. He thought, maybe just, they might be able to be friends someday. Just friends, but it had been a while since he'd had a friend, a _true_ friend, and he already longer for it to be true.

Hopefully, hopefully he wouldn't mess it up.

.

The young woman serving the dining hall leant to the side, trying to catch his eye. "You're not feeling too good, huh? You look _really_ pale."

"Pale is my middle name, Amelia."

She laughed. "What would you like? Not much time for lunch, but, ah, heck it!"

"Could I just have some chips, please?"

"That all?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Just fries. Okay. Say when."

He leant on the counter, breathing a little too fast. Argh, he felt sick! Why did he feel so sick? It usually wasn't this bad.

"Or don't..."

"That's- that's fine, Amelia, thank... you."

She handed him the plate dubiously. "Feel better soon."

"Thank you."

"Lyle." Sims took the plate off him, nodding to Amelia: he had this. "Come on, you should sit down. You don't look well at all."

"No."

"You don't."

Lyle stared at him with wide eyes. "I just feel sick. I'm... I'm not... sick."

"Right."

Reston came marching over, pointing sharply to the closest table. "Sit, now. And eat something. Sims, bugger off. Don't think you're getting off work that easily."

Sims laughed at him. "Carter, you are a funny, funny guy!"

"Laugh it up. Laugh it up, John."

"I mean to!" Sims replied, still laughing. He wandered away, in stitches. Man, Reston was a funny dude. His reasonably recently acquired Tower status had given him a whole new confidence. He now liked to play the "responsible" parent. It was too hilarious!

Though, considering he had Courtland, Brown and Mark to contend with, those three being the other Tower lackeys, apart from the occasional contingent of Tower Sweepers, it was little wonder. Brown was not parenty and Courtland wouldn't have known the meaning of the word if someone had smacked a dictionary in his face, and Mark was just... Mark. He gave everybody the shits... or the shivers. He was the worst one, for sure.

"I'm not your doctor, and you should be thankful for that, Lyle, but let me tell you, I will be mentioning this to Dr. Brown. You assured him you were looking after yourself, though that isn't the impression I'm getting right now. I don't mean to be a bugbear, but your health is important, Lyle."

Lyle laughed. Jeez, Reston was funny today. He sounded like one of those posters on the wall, over by the notice board: this is important, that is important, speeding isn't worth it.

"Just eat your..." Reston glanced disdainfully at his plate, "fries."

Lyle stared at him. "You're very... very..." His eyes started to roll up in his head. Reston grabbed his arm.

"Lyle!"

Lyle laughed again, reaching for his plate. Oh heck, he felt like throwing up! _Just eat something_, he told himself, _and you'll feel better. Promise._

He didn't. But at least he wasn't passed out on the floor yet. That had to be a plus, right?

Reston patted him on the back supportively, and Lyle rolled his eyes around to the side, meeting his gaze, and smiled at him. "Thanks, Daddy," he said.

Reston promptly gave it up.

.

Parker sat on her office desk, chomping on her sandwich whilst she watched the maintenance guy put in a new light bulb and sweep up the splintery mess. It could have been worse, she supposed. Lyle could have _forgotten_ her safe word. She was sure he'd known it all along, and he'd just drawn the whole thing out to seem like a real bloody hero, riding in at the eleventh hour and saving the damsel in distress.

She snorted, covering her mouth with her hand. And, ew!, she'd actually _kissed_ him! And she hadn't washed her mouth out yet! How utterly foul. She had to get right on that. As soon as she finished her sandwich and this guy got the bejeezus out of her office.

She looked down at her sandwich, down to her last bite, as though somehow cheated, and popped it in her mouth anyway. But really, how the fuck had he come by her safe word when even _she'd_ forgotten it?

Typical Lyle: bloody creep! She really didn't want to know who he'd tortured and killed to find _that_ out. Or who he'd kissed. Bleh!

At least Angelo had that going for him. He didn't snog people who didn't want him to bloody snog them. Well, he didn't snog people at all... But that was just because he was just that nice. Or really, really messed-up in the brains.

Really, he was better-ish now. He could talk and everything. Like a halfway normal individual, which was almost a miracle in itself, considering. So there was nothing saying he couldn't snog people, too. He just didn't. He had more propriety than that.

Or something like that, she supposed. Maybe he was iffy about touching people; he was psychometric, after all. Maybe if he kissed someone, and they kissed him back, he wouldn't be able to say 'no' any longer.

If only Lyle gave a damn about such things, instead of being such a floozy.

She sniggered to herself. Yeah, if only.

But, _man_, he had freaked! Even if it had all only been for show, thinking back on it, it was sorta hilarious. Scary as shit, but hilarious.

.

"What's wrong?" Darla asked, taking a seat on the other side of the table. "Something upset you."

"No, it did not," Lyle said, praying his chips actually stayed down. He was starting to feel distinctly nauseous again. Not a good sign.

Darla leaned into the table, scootching closer. "I _felt_ it!"

"You imagined you felt it, more like."

She snorted. "Bobby!"

"Bobby!" he mocked. "That's not my name anymore, Darla."

"Fuck what is and isn't your name! Tell me what happened!"

"Look at you, girly. You just come running. You're so _easy_!"

"Fuck you. And start being straight with me!"

"Actually, I'd rather you. You never know; it could be... tolerable."

"I doubt it, hick."

"Now you're insulting my heritage. That's just not nice, Darla."

She laughed. "I'm sorry: what heritage?"

He didn't bite on that one, but changed the topic, instead. "I'm fine. Nothing upset me. I just didn't feel hungry. Oops."

"You know better than that."

"I was _busy_, woman! Devising an ingenious plan to get you to come to bed with me."

"Hick. Aren't hicks supposed to like hay bales or something? That sounds, I dunno – more adventurous!"

"Adventurous is over-rated, believe me. Unless, of course, you don't mind all manner of itsy bitsy creepy-crawlies _pawing_ at you."

"Pawing!" She laughed. "You little weirdo. I pity the poor girl who falls for your charms."

"Yeah, cos you know I got loads!"

She rolled her eyes. "I believe the correct phrase is: 'Yeah, cos you know I'm _loa-ded_'."

"Do you have a secret gun fetish I don't know about, hon?"

"You mean do I want to shoot your kneecaps out and laugh at you when you're lying on the floor in unbearable, excruciating pain?" she asked. She smiled. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe this is something we could experiment with."

He winked at her. "You are an adventurous girl, aren't you?"

She snorted. "Oh, you make me want to hurl." She stood up. "Catch you later."

"Not if I catch you first."

She spun back around to face him, laughing and sort of walking, sort of stumbling backwards on her spindly high heels. "You better not!"

He just smiled at her.

.

Parker sauntered into the dining hall, laughing about something. "You little floozy," she snickered, you thought you got me _good_." She waggled a finger at him. "Nuh-ah, uh-ah! I am wise to your ways, boy. Wise to your ways." She suddenly narrowed her eyes seriously. "Point me in the direction of the sandwiches!"

"Do it yourself," he replied, laughing and rocking back and forth in his chair. She was talking to him again, was she? Boy, that was quick.

She strutted over and stared at the handful of chips on his plate, then leant over and grabbed the plate off the table, walking off with it.

"Come on, bring it back."

"Nope!" She laughed, walking over to the counter and leaning close to mutter something to Amelia. A couple of minutes later, she returned with two new plates and his chips, putting all three plates down on the table neatly. Why yes!, that was a trick she'd learned at Whiskers Blake.

She pushed one of the plates towards him with a finger. "You can have your crappy, cold fries when you've finished this."

"I don't want that. I'll puke if I eat that."

"Then puke. Fries are not a proper meal. I'm eating mine." She shook her head. "It's not that hard."

"Why are you talking to me?" he whined.

"Because I am. Now shut up and eat your food. Then we can talk about earlier."

"Darla, hon, where are you?"

Parker snorted, grabbing her fork and prodding at her meatloaf. "When did they change Chicken Thursday to Meatloaf Thursday? It's messed-up!"

"Last year."

She glanced down at her plate, then back at him. "No shit?"

"Last year."

"Holy-!" She laughed. "Noo, you should not be laughing, Parker. Eww! I so knew that. I just like... randomly quizzing people about the dining hall allocations, you know."

"I believe you."

Parker elbowed him. "Don't kiss me again. Really. It's creepy."

"I didn't kiss you, Parker. You kissed me."

"It's all the same thing. Just don't do it again."

"It's not the same thing from where I'm standing."

Parker snorted. "You're not even standing. You're sitting."

He pushed his chair back and stood up shakily.

"Oh, sit down, you," she replied. "Hard-done-by!" When he didn't sit down, she grabbed his arm and tugged on it. "You're making me nervous standing there like that. Don't be such a bloody perv. Sit."

"Like I'd need to perv on _you_."

"I'm going to ignore the creepiness of that comment and eat my lunch, thank you very much."

"I've read your file."

She snorted. "Which does not compare to the real thing in any way, shape or form, believe you me."

"No, you're right. It doesn't say you're liable to bouts of..." With a moody look, he dropped what he'd been about to say.

"Really. It doesn't say I'm a stark-raving loony? Well, maybe it should then."

"Don't talk rubbish. You're not mad."

"Just you watch me," she replied. She grabbed the fork off his plate and handed it to him. "Eat!"

.

"Is that so?" Brown asked.

Reston nodded. "Yes it is."

"I will certainly be talking to him about it, Dr. Reston," Brown told him. "You have my word on that."

"Very good," Reston replied, and walked away.

Brown scowled to himself. "Every Goddamn time, Lyle! I'm starting to believe you'd be better off if we just euthanized you."

Plum coughed loudly from behind him. "I hope bloody not, Dr. Brown," she said.

Brown grumbled something in Welsh she didn't understand.

"I am not a proponent of euthanasia, and neither should you be. Or are you thinking of changing careers and becoming an undertaker now?"

Brown shivered. "No. No." Cox's father was one of them. Hardy bloody ha.

"I got my eye on you," Plum told him.

"Yes, I see that, Nurse Sanchez."

"In a non-kinky way," she said coolly.

"Are you sure?" he asked, with a grin.

She gave his shoulder a little push. "Stop it!"

"For now," he conceded.

Plum shook her head, smiling. "You're just not trustworthy."

He swept her into his arms swiftly and kissed her, making her squeal with surprise. Oh, shit, she had to watch what she said in future. She really did have to.

At the corner, Cherry froze. What the hell was Plum doing kissing Brown, or the other way around? No, Plum was definitely in on it, she decided. Now she was... pawing at his back. Cherry backed back around the corner sharply, wondering what that was about. Maybe, possibly, _hopefully_, it was just a dare from the Dare Ring. She'd have to ask Lyle. Soon. For the time being, she wasn't making a peep. The Rumour Mill could find someone else to victimise today.

Glancing down at her nurse's timepiece, she hurried away, back to work. If Plum knew what was good for her, she'd do the same thing. Messing with a Tower doctor was not cool. Messing with _anyone_ affiliated with that bunch was not cool. And it was dangerous.

Cherry lifted a hand up to chew her nail, then lowered it again. She didn't do that anymore, damn it! Not anymore. She'd broken that habit _years_ ago – back in high school!

"You look worried. What's up, you see a ghost back there?"

Cherry jumped, bringing a hand up to her chest. Oh, golly! It was just Sims. Just Sims. Limp lasso. Pigeons!, she'd been worried for a moment there. But no, it _was_ really just Sims. John. Whatever. She only called him 'limp lasso' because it was sorta limp that he came every year to the Hallowe'en do as a cowboy, sorta lame. Not even she was _that_ lame. "I'm just peachy, thanks, doctor," she said.

Sims placed a hand on her arm. "Are you sure, dear?"

She wanted to smack his hand away but thankfully she didn't give in to the temptation. Even if he had been the one to touch her first, he'd still win in any dispute. He was the doctor, and she was just some nurse. Everybody already said the nurses only had one thing on their mind: sex. And most times, kinky sex.

Not that it was true, but people still believed it. Even a load of the nurses themselves. And people thought that just because she had her own Website, especially her own Website named _The Bad Cherry_, that she was kinky to the core. Even if she did like gay romance and spanking stories, she _didn't_ like people thinking she was in constant need of _it_, sex. She didn't do meaningless fucking, and anyone who knew her well knew that.

But people could be mean when they wanted to be. Mean and petty.

She hoped Sims bought her story and bugged off. "Absolutely sure," she said, in answer to his query, and gently pried herself from his grasp and walked off.

He didn't come after her, thank heavens.

Just as she was about to turn the corner, he called out to her, "You know, Cherry, we should go out sometime. You're a nice girl. I like nice girls."

With horror mounting in her chest – he _what_? And why on Earth was he telling _her_ this? – she turned about slowly and said unemotionally, "I was thinking of asking Lyle out, actually. Sorry. Maybe if he turns me down we could get back together and have a chat."

Sims shook his head. "No. No, if you're not interested, we'd best just leave it be. I shudder to think about things becoming awkward between us. I like working with you. You're good at what you do. You ask questions when you're unsure, and you have an enquiring mind. And you're caring. I've noticed that. You're not... cold like some others. Good luck, anyway." He sighed, waving her off.

Feeling her cheeks glowing, Cherry walked away, around the corner. Oh, um... Was that really what Sims thought of her, or had he just been saying that? She wasn't sure, but she thought he seemed like an honest guy, and now she was blushing. Oh, cripes! If only Plum had been here. She could have rescued her in time; and they could have been laughing about it right now.

She sniffed, missing her friend.

.

The first thing she did when she had break was go down to Heathrow Lounge. Lyle was sitting on the sofa, wearing his reading glasses and frowning at something on the table, some kind of documents. "You, you won't defeat me," he told the papers.

Cherry walked over and sat down beside him.

He looked around at her and noticed she was a bit glum, putting his arms around her and giving her a hug. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

Cherry sniffed, but shook her head. "No. Not right now," she said quietly, wishing she didn't sound like such a big baby. She did like Lyle. She _did_. But he was more like a big brother to her than anything, and she just couldn't see herself objectifying him as something of an object of lust. Yes, she got a bit swoony over Med Space Director, but it wasn't as though she'd ever tried it on him. He had a wife, now, and little kids. She wasn't a home-wrecker, uh-ah.

"What are you working on?" she asked, peeking over Lyle's shoulder at his papers.

"Translations."

She sniffed. "Do you like it?"

"Sometimes."

"Sims asked me out. _Me!_ I... I told him I was meaning to ask you out and he said that was okay, and he wished me good luck. I don't know what to do. I actually blushed! Though I don't think he noticed. I hope he didn't notice!"

"He likes you, Cherry," Lyle told her. "He has done for a while now."

Cherry sniffed. "You didn't tell me!"

"No, I didn't. I didn't tell you because I thought, if John wants to start something with you, then it's best to let him do it in his own time. Not to pressure him. And I didn't want to upset you, either. The thing is, Cherry, I don't think he's just after a casual fling. He _really_ likes you."

"I don't know what to do!"

"Well, I think the thing to do, at this point, would be to decide if maybe you like him a little, if maybe there could be something between you, and if you think it's worth a shot investigating the possibility. As I've said, he's liked you for _quite_ a while."

"Well, he is a good doctor. I mean, after he accidentally killed you, he hasn't accidentally killed anyone else."

Lyle laughed. "As you say, darlin', it was an accident. He couldn't have known I was allergic to that particular drug. It wasn't on my chart. Totally an accident."

"Do you like him?"

"I don't mind him. I think, when he starts something, he sticks with it. He's dedicated."

"He doesn't have any fetishes, does he?"

"Not that I know of. He's pretty vanilla from where I'm standing."

Cherry picked at one of her nails, then, in a whisper, she said, "I saw Plum kissing Dr. Brown. I tried telling myself it was just a dare, you know, but when I saw Plum afterwards, she didn't even mention it."

"It's nothing bad, I swear, but I think you should talk to Plum about this, okay?"

Cherry sniffed. "What if it is something bad? What if he's blackmailing her?"

"Arvalis? Somehow, I have a hard time believing that. If it had been a man, perhaps, but he has a certain regard for women, I think you'll find."

"Really?"

"Oh yes."

"I didn't know that."

"Well, yes, he doesn't like to make a big thing of it, but nonetheless, it is true."

"Okay, I'll talk to Plum."

Lyle tucked some of her hair behind her ear. "I think it's a very good idea."

Cherry untucked the hair from behind her ear and nodded. "I don't really want to go out with you," she told him.

"But we can go out as friends any time you like," Lyle said.

She smiled. "Thanks, Lyle."

He glanced across the room. "The coffee machine's fixed. It works again."

Cherry's smile brightened and she leapt up from the sofa. Narrowing her eyes, she uttered a sinister "Excellent!", and swept off in that direction. Whilst she still had time, she'd get herself a coffee.

Plum trudged over, sighing heavily. "Thought I'd find you here, chica."

"I'm becoming a regular coffee addict," Cherry replied.

"I see," Frankie said, coming to stand by the two nurses.

"Do you see anyone pointing fingers?" Cherry asked Plum.

Plum grinned and pointed at Frankie at the same time as Cherry, the two women laughing.

"Seriously, ladies, I believe the culprit here is..." he tried on a dark, mysterious voice, "_my sinister alter ego, JR._"

They snorted.

"No? Nobody's buying that one. Damn! I still think it could work, with a little adjustment. I think I just need to practise it a little more before I officially roll it out."

Plum patted his arm. "A _lot_ more, Frankie!" She nodded in Lyle's direction. "You should ask Lyle about sinister alter egos. I believe he's the expert in that field." She waved at Lyle with a smile.

.

Parker mooched into Sydney's office, planting herself down on his desk. "Sooo?"

"So, could you kindly hop off my desk, Miss Parker?"

Parker patted the desk affectionately. "I believe your desk and I have an understanding."

"Off the desk, thank you!"

She slid off his desk, rolling her eyes. "Tell me all about it. Are you having lunch again any time soon? Or perhaps _dinner_? At home!" She raised her eyebrows, with a grin.

"There's nothing to tell. She's a nice lady, but all we did was talk."

"What did you talk about?"

"This and that."

"Oh, I _love_ your descriptive prowess, Sydney! You could seriously knock the socks off _Cleary_ with that stuff!"

"Did you end up having lunch?"

"Avoiding the issue!" she said, pointing a finger.

"Is that a 'yes' or a 'no'?"

She huffed, crossing her arms. "As a matter of fact, yes I did. After much ado."

"Tell me more."

She laughed. "Argh, you know, just the regular shenanigans. Lyle – surprise, surprise!, I bet you weren't expecting me to say that, Sydney!"

"Not at all," he replied dully. "What did he do this time?"

"Kissed me."

"Did you waste him?"

"No, I didn't even shoot him. I think I was very forgiving of his misdemeanour."

"You shouldn't have been."

Parker uncrossed her arms. "Do you think so?"

"Absolutely!"

"Anyway, he says he wasn't the one who kissed me. He says _I_ kissed _him_!" She laughed hysterically. "Maybe I did, but the bastard knew my safe word all along!"

"Your safe word, Miss Parker?" Sydney asked.

She shrugged, slightly uncomfortable. "Yeah, you know."

"Yes, I do," he replied darkly. "And Lyle knows your safe word?"

She nodded. "Apparently so. I mean, I'd forgotten it myself. _He's such an ass!_"

"Why did you kiss him?"

She frowned, turning her palms up. "Psychotic break? I don't know, Syd! He was always trying to get onto me in the past! And I don't believe he's changed that much. It's all just a show."

"I see where you're coming from."

"I broke my light," she said to the floor.

Sydney leaned forward to catch her gaze. "Excuse me?"

Parker looked up and met his eyes, pointing to the ceiling. "The light in my office. I was mad and I broke it. With my mind. Like... like Mom. It was pulp."

"You did, huh?"

"It's fixed now, luckily."

Sydney nodded.

"I... I was really, really awful," she told him. "Just thinking back on it freaks the blazes out of me. I really wanted to punish him. I don't..." She rubbed a hand over her eye. "I don't ever want to know what that's like again! Can you help me? Please."

"I'll try, Miss Parker."

She nodded. "I'm not like Kyle!" she whined.

"No, you're not," Sydney agreed. "You have friends. You have me."

She rubbed her eye again. "I'm sorry for being so pathetic, Syd."

He shook his head. "No, you're not. You're not pathetic. We all need friends."

She nodded. "Thank you, Sydney."

"Do you want a hug?"

She shook her head, not really able to speak because of the lump in her throat.

"Are you sure?"

She shook her head again.

He sighed and stood up, and walked over and hugged her. Very occasionally, everyone needed a hug too.


	5. Chapter 5

"I do" is performed by Jewel. Its lyrics and music do not belong to me.

* * *

><p>Listening to Madeleine Peyroux in the living room, sitting on the floor by the coffee table, Lyle smiled. Oh, he had a plan. He had a plan. And he could do it, too. The children would be free. The company didn't realise what they were dealing with. The only problem was, he was only one person. And he had to choose. Who was he going to save? Where were they going to go then? How were they going to stay out of trouble?<p>

Tazu swayed to the music, her eyes closed, just relaxing. Cathy would have her wish one day. The children would be free. At least, some of them. In the back of her mind, she was thinking, coasting through her thoughts. They could choose to rescue the Blue Cove kids, but it wouldn't be using their advantage to its best effectiveness. And what of these other children? Did they want to be free? What were their chances of recovery, of understanding and moving on, in this strange, complicated world, this often hard world?

She opened her eyes. "Crazy lookin' boy. Tell me your thoughts."

"It would be helpful if we had Jarod on our side, but there are other alternatives."

Tazu nodded. "Who have you contacted?"

"I've spoken with Elaine."

"How did you find them?"

He frowned. "Yeah... A point in their favour: they seem genuine."

"Can they help?"

"Quite a bit, actually, if they do things right."

"And who else?"

"Flossie Colter."

"She's a Healer?"

"Mmm-hm."

"And they're all quite obscure?"

"Much more so than Jarod."

Tazu scrunched her face up. "But _Elaine_ – they named themselves after Catherine. Can we be sure they're honestly serious about the whole thing?"

"I think they are. The couple I spoke to, Gabriel and Shenandoa, seem to really care about these people. About putting an end to their exploitation. They really want to do all they can to help."

"People are going to think the worst of them. It's really a thankless, hopeless vocation."

"They're freedom fighters. People will think what they want, but some will understand. There is always hope, Tazu. They're not trying to change the world, they're trying to educate and sometimes, where possible, heal; to get people to think about this world we're trudging through and where we're really headed. What do we want the future to look like? Do we want it to be horror and destruction, or would we rather harmony and equality? That sort of vision isn't something you merely dream up, wish upon a star or two, and by the morning everything is new again, everything is mended pretty. It takes time and heart. And so many lives."

"And still you say there is hope?"

"Where there is life, there is hope."

"Boy, you are some kind of bipolar," she remarked.

He smiled. "Be that as it may."

"And what about Parker?"

"She'll choose the right side, in the end. I can see it now. Her heart is in the right place."

.

"_...'Cause love is a game, until it's played. And if it's lost, it can't ever be saved. We have Heaven to win and Hell to lose, and the difference is up to me and you – so if you will, I will stop sayin' 'I won't', stop sayin' 'I can't'. Is that what you said? 'Cause if you did – I do! I do..._"

Parker stirred sugar into her coffee, rolling her eyes. "Must you embarrass me incessantly?" she asked Lyle, who was singing along to Jewel's "I Do".

"I like this song."

"Isn't that your tag line?"

"No."

Parker glanced around the Seven Eleven, at the other customers. It was early, so there weren't many. A young woman getting a sports drink from the refrigerator, an older man looking at the magazines, young man behind the counter. "Is it her?" she asked, nodding to the young woman.

"Sweetheart, did you not hear me say '_I_'?"

"Oh, so you're a Darcy fan, too, are you?"

"Absolutely."

"You are such a girl!"

"There's a difference now? Aren't we all human beings?"

"That's not what I meant," she growled.

"I believe in the power of love," he said.

"And that just goes to show you've never been in love before," she told him. "If you had, you'd know it's all a load of utter bollocks."

"No."

She nodded. "Oh yes! Love only hurts."

"Not only, Sis."

She waved that off. "You wouldn't know, anyway. You've never been in love. Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot – you're in love with yourself!"

He scruffed up her hair. She smacked his hand away dirtily. "I love _you_," he told her. "My awesome big sister!"

"You're taking drugs," she returned sourly. "Or is grandpa?" she asked, shooting a glance the older man's way.

"We're all taking drugs."

She snorted. "You may be."

Lyle smiled at her and leant closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially: "They put it in our water."

She laughed. "You're insane." Yeah, she'd heard that too.

.

Fixing her hair in the mirror, Parker sighed. She honestly didn't know why she got up this early just to go out for coffee with her fake brother in the morning before work, but she didn't feel that bad today. Even after the craziness of yesterday, she felt good. Like she was a part of something good, a family, even.

She always had breakfast with Debbie on Wednesday, but today was Friday. She'd never much liked Friday – the weekend was just one big blur when you were alone and aimless, when you could be called in to work at a moment's notice; get your bad girl shoes, girl, 'cause you're up! – and, oh ugh, Surprise Friday. Leftovers. Cold, icky. It ought to be a crime, she thought, just remembering the way the cold fat stuck to the top of her mouth. Yuck, yuck, yuck!

But today, today didn't feel as bad as she'd thought it would.

She smiled at her image in the mirror and walked out of the bathroom. _Now_ she was ready to face the world! She'd had her first coffee, she'd given her first smile – one point for Mel – and she was feeling brave, feeling hopeful. The weather report last night had promised a warm day, a soft breeze, the storm had blown itself out. And she was looking forward to the sunlight on her face.

.

They walked back to Lyle's town house, but decided to stay out a while longer, so they crossed the road to the park and had a look around there. Parker nudged a piece of bark chip with her high heel, glancing around the empty park. She loved the smell of the ground and the trees. It just smelled so _alive_. Maybe that was why Lyle lived here. If he'd had a house and a garden, he'd have had to hire someone to look after the grounds. This way, he didn't have to bother; the council did that anyway. She liked that the park was a decent size, that it trees and bushes and benches, too.

She sat down on one of the benches and gave her feet a rest. They didn't complain. She sighed, reaching for Lyle's arm. He was looking somewhere else and she wanted to talk to him. "About my brother's upgrades. How long have you had them, roughly? I know the standard type these days has a shelf life of five years, thereabout; eight, tops. I remember you telling Broots about it. It really freaked him out. But my brother's upgrades were different."

"About ten years," Lyle said.

Parker couldn't keep the unhappiness from her expression. "What does the Tower say about them? Are they... stable?"

"They're hanging on. They're not viable, corrupted. I mean, they don't work, but sometimes something clicks back into place, an old pathway kicks back into gear. I have a tendency to push it, I know."

"The stereo the other day?"

He nodded silently.

"How does that work? The stereo's not exactly equipped with wireless connectivity."

"How does it work? I don't rightly know, I just know it does. The Tower aren't too keen to go into the details. As you know, I'm not supposed to mess with them. The Tower haven't even dared running a diagnostic twice, after things went a little south the first time."

"How would they do that?"

"MU."

One of those little tablet looking things, right. She'd seen them before. They hooked up to the monitor somehow – wirelessly – and enabled access to the upgrade's log or allowed the user to download progress reports. "What exactly are they scared of? Brain damage?"

He laughed. "No. No, of course not. They're worried about your brother's upgrades, that's what keeps them treading light. They think they might still be able to salvage them somehow, repair them, maybe. Maybe even learn something about the little one's fate. String together a workable model of his DNA."

"I wouldn't let them do that. I wouldn't let them clone him," Parker told him seriously.

"Listen, Miss Parker," he resisted the urge to touch her arm, "they already have. You, me. Been there, done that. I never told you before, but it's okay. They made like Jarod."

"They escaped?" Parker asked. She wasn't sure she believed him, but she couldn't deny she was interested. Interested and pissed.

"Yes, they did."

"I didn't even know."

"Well, neither did I," Lyle replied. " 'Til Emily told me. Cindy Cindy and Mo are good friends."

"Cindy Cindy?"

"Cindy, if you like."

"That's... my clone's name?"

"Mmm."

"Mo is Jarod's clone?" Jarod had never actually told her the boy's name, the name he'd chosen for himself, as though he was protecting him somehow by doing so.

"Yes."

"He must be all grown up now," Parker said. All grown up, like Silvie, her best friend's baby. But not her baby; her baby had never been born. She'd never even found out its gender, given it a name. She'd always imagined Mimi and she would have girls, that they'd be best friends like their mothers. She'd planned to name her baby Grace, the name Lyle had called her baby by. Could she have been a little girl?

"He's no longer a child, no."

"What about...?" She nodded to him.

"Sanford. They're no longer together. They separated a while back. Not by choice, I imagine. Sanford's now with a company called the Burns Group."

"And you never thought to _help_ him?"

"It is not my struggle."

Parker shook her head. "He's your brother," she told him coldly. "Reagan and Silvie's uncle!"

"I've had other things on my mind."

"Like making nice with Emily?" Parker asked angrily.

Lyle sighed. "Among other things."

"Ah, I forgot! The old pastime." Murdering innocent young girls.

"I _have_ changed," he told her seriously. "I _am_ changing."

She shook her head. "You say family means something to you, but you couldn't give a stuff about your little brother. You know what I think?" She pointed at him accusingly. "You haven't changed at all – you only _think_ you have. You're lying to yourself along with the rest of us!"

"That isn't fair."

She shot him a silencing glare. "The fact is," she laid it out for him darkly, "you don't want Sanford. You don't want a _brother_. You only want _me_. And all of this sister talk – nothing but bullshit, Lyle!"

"No it isn't, Parker."

"Yes. It is."

He shook his head.

"Stop lying to yourself. Just stop."

"Why are you being like this today?" he asked. "I thought we'd got to the stage where I could be honest with you."

Parker snorted. "Start being honest with yourself first," she remarked dirtily. "It'd do more for you."

"I didn't know about Cindy and San! What was I supposed to do? If Bobby knew anything, he wasn't saying shite. How does that make me the bad guy in all of this? I can't just go strolling into Burns and grab the kid and say 'Tootles'! He hasn't left because they don't _want_ him to! The Centre aren't the only ones with fire-power, Sis."

"He is your brother," she told him stubbornly. "I don't even know how you can look at me, how you can even call me 'Sis', and turn your back on him _day after day_. Are you even _human_?"

"No, of course not."

Parker scowled. "You're the same asshole you always were!" she hissed.

"They're not _hurting_ him!"

"Oh, stuff you!" She shot to her feet, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, and walked away.

Lyle got up and went after her, reaching for her arm carefully. "Sis..."

"Fuck off," she whispered moodily.

"I have to tell you something. You can be mad at me then, if you want. And I have a feeling you're gonna want to be. You may even want to shoot me."

She spun back to face him, her eyes flashing fiercely. "What?" she growled.

He dropped his hand back to his side, giving up the idea of touching her. If he wasn't careful, she'd break his arm that way. And that wouldn't be much fun; it wouldn't be improving matters. "You have a son. You... and I. The Tower..." He trailed away, uncomfortable under her death glare.

"_I hate you!_"

"He's assigned to the Tower branch, in Alaska. There's no way we can get within a yard of that place without someone knowing, and kicking up a ruckus."

"I hope you die!" she spat, and turned on her heel and stalked off, leaving him standing there. She didn't even ask their son's name.

"It's Aster," he said quietly, to no-one but himself. "His name is Aster."

.

Stomping back to her car, Parker drove to the Centre and parked in front of the building main. She didn't cry then, or even as she rode the elevator to the first floor, where her office was located. She only let herself cry when she was safely locked in her office, and then she sunk down in the corner and cried and cried.

.

Now that he had started to tell her things, for whatever ends he saw it as achieving, she would just have to take the pain and let it play out. Even if everything he told her was nothing more than an elaborate fabrication, the more she knew, the better equipped she stood, the better her chances of making it through to the end. The better her chances of sorting the truth from the lies and getting the hell out of this place when they time came – of taking it down.

It would hurt, but once she'd made it, once the Centre was toast – or, in the very least – Lyle and the Blue Cove branch, she'd be able to move through the pain, and then _past_ it, into a new, less painful future. Into a future worthwhile living, a future worth fighting for. She was, and would always be, a soldier, in many, many ways. If not in one way, then in another. That would not change in this lifetime. And a good soldier fought for justice, for equality, for _real_ humanity.

Even if it sometimes hurt.

It was worth it.

She could not just think of herself, she realised. How could she, when her very existence was intertwined with that of the entire universe, with that of all living beings? When being alive was about being a part. Being _meaningful_.

She _was_ meaningful. And she meant to let the world know it. Meant to let Lyle, and all those others in her world, finally see it.

She meant to do more than simply sit back and allow herself and her family and friends, her universal family – including Jarod (and her son, if there really was such a person) – to be stomped all over.

No two-bit Empath was going to put her off her game!

She wasn't the Centre's toy, she wasn't anyone's instrument. She listened to the universe and it told her how things should be, how goodness could prevail, and she believed in it. She listened and believed, and fought. For _sanity_.

Her fingers were already there, in all the pies, she just had to untangle her fingers from the useless and reattach them to the useful. And that took time, and skill.

And it was a skill she _could_ learn.

She didn't always like being a Pretender, but sometimes it came in handy. It had its moments, even it. And she'd be damned if she would waste such a useful tool just waiting to be utilised, employed – deployed!

No, she wouldn't waste it. Had Jarod ever done so?

After her brush with a Kyle-esque meltdown, she was more determined than ever to get it _right_!

She would cry her tears – for now – and then, when they finally stopped coming, for a time, she would get back to work.

That was "dealing". And it was the only way she knew how to do it.

.

When she saw Lyle next, she already knew he wasn't Lyle, had already honed her senses to detect the subtle differences in their personalities, attuned her Perception to it.

Bobby held himself differently, _saw_ himself differently. And she wasn't that bad a Pretender. If it had been Lyle pretending to be Bobby, she'd have known. She felt certain of that. He wasn't that good an Empath, and Bobby was still better. It was the way of these things, of successive personalities.

Her eyes were dry now. She'd been sitting at her desk, working on her paperwork, but she had looked up when Bobby had let himself into her office... foregoing knocking. Lyle wouldn't have knocked, and the company – aside from Raines – had never known Bobby. They didn't need to start now.

"You told Lyle about our conversation, didn't you?" she said.

Bobby nodded silently, then replied, "After a fashion, Miss Parker. Not all of our conversation, but certainly that aspect of it. And it worked, it seems."

"You can influence him," she said, with a sudden brightness in her eyes. Oh. Oh!

"Carefully, I think so."

Parker stood up, her mind whirring. "He was crapping on a while ago about integrating with you," she told him. "Did you know?" He nodded silently, so she went on. "Do you think he could do that? Could it work? If he did do it, what do you think your chances of winning are?"

"It is not about winning, Miss Parker. Neither of us would 'win' in the sense you are speaking of. We would both be compromising parts of ourselves by integrating, certainly neither of us would get to _dominate_ the other, but with that sort of overlapping, that sort of... combining, the essence of the thing can still turn out positive. As..." he gestured a hand to her.

Parker snorted. "With me. I'm not so sure about that. Knowing Mel's thoughts on Molly, I'm not so sure she'd do it again, were she able to make the choice again."

"She would do it again," Bobby said, with a slow smile. "Because Melody and Molly belong together. Because they are the same soul."

"Hmm."

"You, darlin', are the best of them. You are a good person. You know how bad one can be, can truly go, and you chose the better aspect. I happen to believe you made the right choice."

"You may think so, but I don't believe Melody properly integrated with Molly. It seems like there's me, then there's Mel and Molly, and they're all battling it out in here, in my mind."

"It is complicated. Hard, seems like at times, even."

She nodded. "I'd still like to know your chances, which team to pull for. You're the stronger Empath. You're less fucked-up. I mean, if I can be truthful: you killed Jimmy but you didn't kill anyone else, did you?"

Bobby frowned. After a long moment, he said, "No", just sort of plainly. Added, after a long moment, "Just Jimmy." He looked around her office critically, frowned a bit more. "I think, if we integrated... we would stand a passable chance of gaining the sort of insight and skills that only come with life experience that would be invaluable for the future. Our future. For a... better future where our abilities are concerned. As a person, would we be more clear-headed, more decent? I would like to say 'yes', but I honestly don't know. I can't say for sure. All I can say is that the possibility exists."

Parker sighed. "I guess I can't expect more than that," she replied. "You think you could influence Lyle in other ways?"

"I am trying."

"I... had a crazy moment."

"I am aware."

She frowned. "Do you know everything Lyle knows?"

"Theoretically, if it is my desire, it should be possible."

She could resist telling him. "He told me we have a son."

"Yes. He is a triple possessor. A Pretender, ISP and Empath. The company considers him a valuable asset."

Parker felt her eyes stinging, but it didn't bother her. Not with Bobby. Strange, she thought, but she was onto something now, she had reasons to preoccupy her mind. "What Class is he?"

"He is a Class Six," Bobby answered.

Parker shook her head, frowning. "Why?"

"I am not certain."

Parker crossed her arms. "Come on, Bobby!"

Bobby sighed, stepping closer. "It feels as though this is not my place to say, but I am as much entitled to say so as Lyle, so I'll tell you now. Lyle is not a Class Five."

Parker frowned properly now. "Then, when Darla said he was a high-Class, she really meant it? Even if she didn't mean to give the game away?"

Bobby nodded.

"What... what Class are _you_?"

"Seven," Bobby replied plainly. It was just a fact, he drew no pride from it.

"Shit! So Silvie... she's a Seven, too? That's why Reagan's a Five, like Lyle says _he_ is, and Silvie was supposed to be too, back in Canada? It's not a fluke that Reagan's a Five; Lyle's just been having one over the company this whole time?"

"Would you not have done the same thing, Miss Parker?" Bobby asked.

Parker frowned. Would she have done the same thing? At twenty-two? Hadn't she given – at least _attempted_ to _give_ – T-Corp the boot then? Hadn't she fought their sickly intentions for her, held some modicum of self-preservation? And then walked straight into the arms of the Centre. Without the support and positive influence of Mimi, she'd come apart in some ways. She'd accepted compromise. But she still hadn't signed herself up for Pretender school, hadn't let on that she was an ISP, had still been denying it herself then. "I suppose, I just thought..." She trailed away, the answers she didn't have to the multitude of questions crowding her mind becoming too much. Time to shut up, and listen up.

"Lyle already knew about the dangers of exposing too much of himself to unscrupulous persons. He learned that from me. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. He was merely looking out for himself. Everyone does."

"I'm not disagreeing that they do," Parker said, "I just thought he believed in the company... that they had his back the way Bartholomew and his lot never did." Why had she never thought of it that way? Why had she always believed Lyle gave a damn about the company, about someone aside from himself?

"He uses their allegiance to his best advantage, as he does with everyone and everything. He is not as invested in this company's well-being as you'd think."

Parker nodded. Somehow, even as Bobby explained it, she still had trouble believing it quite. She believed the same thing, didn't she? That Lyle cared about Lyle, and he only cared about the company when they could do something for _him_, only cared about what they could do _for_ him. The two concepts were the same, yet put a different way, she had trouble believing it.

But, truthfully, he did want to succeed in this place, he did want to lord it over them all and stick it to the rest of them in any number of sick, sadistic ways. It was a fantasy of his.

She remembered him saying he wanted some of his business to remain just his own. He hadn't said it to overemphasise the element of mystery he believed the girls really went for, he'd said it because he didn't want the company to know _everything_ about him. He didn't trust them to keep his secrets and do good by him.

Though she knew he wasn't stupid, she'd heard him say it himself, she couldn't help the feeling of oddness it brought. When he got to the top, would he need to hide anything then? It would be sweeter to let everyone know how _great_ he was! The fact that everything you revealed was a potential vulnerability you exposed, well, it wouldn't matter – because he was _that_ good! Yes, she could buy that. But... but the level of caution, of fear, she supposed, Bobby talked about... She wasn't so sure about that. The exterior Lyle presented had gotten to her that well. What else wasn't he saying about himself? Was that it, or was there more? If there really was more, was it more bad news, or was some of it good news?

She could have said she didn't care, that she'd stopped asking questions where Lyle was concerned, had given up on him, but that was not the truth. If she was honest, she still wondered.

Was Bobby saying all this to win her back to Lyle's side, or was he genuine; did he really care about his future as a human being, did he now want to give decent a shot?

_Of course he's scared_, she reasoned. _Of course he would never say so, never let on. He's scared because he knows he could fail, knows he isn't a made man yet. He knows how it feels to fail, to be used; it's why he so enjoys being the user._

Yes, it made sense now.

Now.

It helped. Now she knew the enemy wasn't infallible, she knew he had weaknesses, but more than that – she knew what they were. She knew one of them, at least. It was better than nothing. She'd always believed he wasn't everything he was cracked up to be, had seen it time and again, but what if it was just a game? Now she knew it wasn't.

He wasn't invincible.

She was about to ask Bobby if he'd been the one who'd saved her from that car but when she looked again, she saw he'd gone. And he'd left Lyle in his place. He held up his hands. "Before you go me, Parker, just hear me out, okay?" He waited for a sign from her – her eyes glinted darkly – before going on. "I know you probably hate me right now. You said you did, you do. And I'm not going to argue with you. You have adequate reason. But we've got to stick together for now. We've got to present a united front. We're a team, aren't we? We're Parkers. Well, you are, and I'm," he winked at her, "_pretending_ to be." He laughed, seeming to find what he'd just said amusing, thinking maybe she would too.

Her glare didn't budge at all.

He sighed. "I just think we need to stick together right now, that's all."

"You mean in case they decide they'd rather have Darla on Jarod's Retrieval Team instead of a crazy, SOB sociopath!" she growled.

"I could mean," he returned.

She scowled at him. "There's no 'could' about it!" she spat.

"I admit, it's a compelling argument, and, yeah, too true, but it's not the only reason. I am trying to change, you know. I'm not just saying so: I really am. I know you don't believe it, and I'm not asking you to, at this point, but I am. I know that, so for now, it's enough that I know. I can make it through this early stage alone. I guess I've got a long way to go, but I have to take the first step myself. I have to decide to do this thing myself. And stick with it! Doesn't matter who, what sparked the idea, action always speaks louder than words. I can't expect anyone else to carry me through this world; I've gotta do that myself. All anyone else can do is hold my hand, make the journey a little less lonely, a little more enjoyable, but it's _my_ journey. I can handle that... Sis..."

"Don't think I won't stab you in the back just for kicks!" she growled, eyeing him with considerable disgust. "You're a big, strong Reaper." Which their son wasn't, she remembered, distractingly. At least, Bobby hadn't said he was. He'd inherited her Pretending and Inner Sense, and Lyle's Empathy, but not his Reaper side. Why the hell was that?

Lyle laughed. "I am," he agreed, quite happily.

Parker didn't smile back. He might have felt better about this whole thing – might have wanted her to _think_ he did; There's nothing to be 'fraid of, girly, I gon' look after ya – we're on the same side, after all – but she wasn't going to buy into that. She wasn't even going to _Pretend_ today.

He had forfeited her sisterly support for today, and he only had himself to blame.

Right now, she wasn't a jot interested in the possibility for goodness hiding somewhere inside him, or whether or not it truly _did_ exist as something other than a figment of her own twisted imagination. She wasn't interested one iota.

She started to walk back to her desk, fully intending on ignoring him until he pissed off out of her office, when he asked, a frown in his voice, "What do you want from this life, Sis? What are your hopes and aspirations?"

He'd never asked her before – maybe he'd seen it as a useless point; he was an Empath, shouldn't he know?, wouldn't she only lie to him, anyway? – but, for some reason, he was asking her now. To manipulate her feelings, she imagined. Wanted her to think he cared. Judge her reaction in light of recent revelations (and hurts) and reassess his evaluation based on whatever he got off her Empathically.

She turned back around. "I want to find Jarod," she replied seriously. No, she didn't want to bring him back in, hadn't for a long, long time now, but she'd like to sit down and have a chat with the guy. That was, if he didn't make a break for the exit when she looked down to stir sugar into her black coffee, her favourite all-around pick-me-up nowadays.

"What do you want for _yourself_, Parker?" He gestured to himself, placing a hand on his chest. "I'd like to get away from the Centre, from the general ethos of distrust and thinly-veiled hostility, start being a family with Emily and the kids, get a house somewhere in the country, somewhere peaceful. I'd like the kids to know their grandparents, and enjoy being kids. Maybe get back to writing music; see a bit of the country, when the kids are old enough. What would you like?"

"I don't function on fantastical hopes," she told him. "I don't work with fantasies and dreams. I work with what is _real_."

"Isn't the truth changeable? Isn't it influenced by our attitudes and mind-set?"

"I'm a realist."

"But you can be a pessimist, too."

She glared at him darkly. "With just reason," she growled.

"I'm not disputing that," Lyle replied. "But what would you like for yourself? There has to be something. I understand the difference between possible and out-of-this-orbit-just-not-possible-in-this-life."

"I want you to fuck off and leave me alone."

"Putting aside any immediate spur-of-the-moment desires, what would you like for the future? For _your_ future? You'd like to leave this place, wouldn't you? All of the deception and machination? You used to want to. I'm assuming you still want that. If you could do that – if you _could_ – what would you do then, what would you look to to give your life meaning then? What could you see as giving you a sense of belonging in this world?"

"You – _dying_!" she growled.

"I may not even be a part of your future," he said. "I might've gone off to do whatever it is Emmy and I want to do. I may not want to keep in contact, or you may not want to. There's nothing saying we'd have to, if we didn't work together, if the company wasn't there to tell us we should, we're siblings."

It was starting to piss her off, his calling Emily "Emmy".

"It's none of your business what," she told him frankly. "Fuck off, moron!" She turned around then and walked back to her desk. When she sat down to get stuck in on her backlog of unfinished paperwork, he'd gone.

She liked the idea of him being gone permanently better. Or him being _dead_.

Working on her boring-as-Surprise-Friday paperwork, she tried not to let her mind wander to the answer to Lyle's question, to the truth she knew, didn't have to think about, really. She'd want to settle down with a good man, someone to stimulate her mind and soul as well as her body, she'd want her son to be there, too; she wouldn't want to lose contact with Sydney or Debbie, or Broots and Silvie, if it could be helped, if Silvie could just let go of her loser dad. She wanted to see Ethan now and again, Nicky, too, and... maybe that guy could be Jarod.

Just maybe...

.

Walking out to her car after work, she spied Lyle standing by Frankie's Beemer, talking with Frankie. When they'd said "bye" and Frankie had gone, she walked over that way, shoes crunching on the loose gravel. "Would you be willing to share Emily with Bobby?" she asked him, just like that. "Because if you were to integrate with Bobby, and you wanted to keep some kind of relationship with her, that's how it would be. Do you find that remotely tolerable? You know Bobby's history better than anyone. You know how he treated his friends and family."

"I would have no choice," he said, with a frown.

"If it doesn't work out how you thought, you might have to kiss that friendship goodbye. You may have to leave everyone you like behind." She didn't say 'care for' because Lyle didn't care for anyone but himself; the twisted part of himself, anyway. "Do you think you could handle that? Once you've changed, you mightn't give a damn, but what about _you_? _Now?_ What if you don't get better? What if you get worse?"

Lyle coughed, putting his hand over his mouth and turning away from her for a moment.

She waited right where she was, for his reply.

"I'll have to think about it some more," he conceded, a little watery-eyed. "Thanks for getting me onto thinking about it, though. I know you're pretty mad at me right now, and I appreciate that you'd take the time to talk to me about my stuff all the same. You could've just ignored me for the rest of the week." He stepped towards her for a hug, but she stepped back sharply, wondering where the fuck he'd gotten the idea from that it was okay to touch her, much less _hug_ her.

"I'll see you then," he said lamely.

She turned and walked off, to her car, not giving him the chance to leave first, wanting to make an impression, wanting to make him feel sad, like he'd lost something. See her later? Yeah, whatever. And anyway, it was more like the rest of the month. If she could, she'd have ignored him for the rest of her _life_!


	6. Chapter 6

"I think you're missing the point."

"How am I missing the point?" Jarod asked, slightly annoyed at Parker's assessment but carefully concealing it in his tone. "He said Lyle has been his father for thirteen years, not seventeen. He should've said seventeen."

"It was _a dream_," Parker enunciated.

"It wasn't just a dream," Jarod replied, even more ticked off than before. "It was my unconscious mind reminding me of something I missed."

She rolled her eyes. "If that's what you want to think..."

Jarod bit back a scowl. "Yeah, sure."

Parker laughed darkly. "Oh, for God sake, Jarod! Don't you get it? He was floating around in the system for a while before he came to the Bowmans and they decided to keep him. Do you get it now? He was a creepy little shit. You get it. Who'd want to keep him?"

"Why wouldn't they want to keep him, Parker?" Jarod bristled.

"Creepy as crap," she intoned.

"He wasn't creepy when he was a child. He was just a child."

"He was always creepy," Parker replied.

"Why? His Empathy wouldn't have even been active back then."

"It's the eyes," she said.

"I don't find his eyes creepy. They look a lot like your eyes."

Parker snorted sarcastically. "They don't look a thing like my eyes!"

"They almost do," he defended.

"Almost is shit!"

"Don't be awful Parker. I bet he was a fairly normal little kid."

"He wasn't. He was a mute little freak, Jarod. He wouldn't talk to _anybody_!"

"So when did the Bowmans adopt him?"

"When he was four."

"You think he knew all along they weren't his real parents?"

"Yeah."

"Then why'd he let them mistreat him?"

"Bobby loved them. Shit, Jarod, is there something hard to understand about Empath. He knew there were parents out there who loved their kids, and they were his parents then. I guess he was still hoping. If other people's parents could love them, then so could his. In time. Who knows? At the start, they may even have cared, almost like proper parents. Empaths _need_ Mediators, just like Pretenders; maybe even more so. A Mediator would've told him his parents weren't intending on being Perfect Mommy and Daddy anymore, would've told him 'Move on, kiddo'. But he didn't have no Mediator, he just had his nutty self, and the memory of every family that ever turned him down until the Bowmans finally decided to keep him. They could only have loved him to have wanted to keep him, right? You don't understand Bobby. He's not Lyle. Wasn't Lyle. He _could_ relate to people. But he sometimes went overboard, seeing connections where they weren't, or where they were damn flimsy. He loved Elsie and Lyle. They weren't just his parents, they were human beings. He _loved_ them. Love is about negotiation, Jarod. He cared about them but they just weren't seeing it yet, they weren't used to being loved so completely. He didn't just want stuff from them, he wanted them to be happy with the lives they had."

"But that's not how children usually love their parents, Parker," Jarod told her.

"Well, no. Some kids don't give a damn about their folks. But some do, and Bobby did. It was the only way he knew how to love. That Empath thing again. When you love someone, you're supposed to care about them, not just yourself. That's not why you love. They _kept_ him. Can you understand the gravity of that? For the first time in his life, he had a stable home. A _house_! A place to call his own, somewhere to say he fit in, if not belonged. Somewhere he was meant to be. I'd have held on too."

"No you wouldn't have."

"Yeah, I would've."

"Even if they hurt you?"

"My parents hurt me, too."

"But not physically. Not..."

Parker rolled her eyes. "Don't be so naive, Jarod. They hurt me _emotionally_. It was like a Goddamn war zone, when I was a kid. Momma was _mad_. Do you know what that's like? Half the time Daddy didn't want to believe it, Momma could act normal sometimes; half the time he just wanted it to be over, wanted the woman he loved back... or for her to just be _gone_. Where do you think that left me, in the middle of all that shit? And Momma, thinking I was this precious thing one second, too precious to handle, almost, and the next, I was this thing anchoring her to this evil life, to this disgusting association with this evil place. She loved me, but sometimes she hated me too. She wanted me to have a normal life like all of the other normal kids, but she wanted to control me completely. It was always a toss up. Always! She probably never meant to join me in the end, probably always meant to stay away. We'd never go back to being the perfect family, with or without Daddy and the Centre. I was _ten_! When you're that age, you don't forget easily the horrors that've constituted your everyday almost from the moment you were born. It takes hard work – and Momma was tired. Tired of all that work."

Parker sighed. "I don't know, Jarod, but I think she... she was afraid. Afraid of being afraid, afraid of it all. Trying was so hard, so futile. She loved Daddy, but it wasn't the forever kind of love, the soul-mate kind of love. She loved Daddy for all the wrong reasons; the fun-for-a-while reasons. She didn't love him as an equal, as someone she'd gladly stand beside and fight with, and who'd do the same for her. I don't even know if they really spoke, or if every single conversation they shared began and ended in their own personal fantasy lands. Momma saw Daddy how she wanted to see him, and Daddy saw her how he wanted to see her. They thought they could pretend for the rest of their lives, if it made them happy. If it kept things running smoothly."

She frowned and suppressed a sigh, going on: "At least Bobby never pretended. He really didn't. He just hoped – _forgave_! He gave them too many chances. They didn't appreciate him for it, they just thought they could run roughshod over him. But he felt something in them worth fighting for, worth taking the battle scars for. It _wasn't_ pretend, Jarod – it was real! There _was_ some good still left in them back then. He just wasn't the right one to break through to it, to help bring it to the surface. He was just some kid. He wasn't even really their kid. It's sorta sad."

"He wasn't such a nice kid, Parker," Jarod reminded her. "He killed his best friend in cold blood."

"Ah, see, you see it now. The creepiness." She nodded. "Took your time. But why not? To try out something new. He wasn't the same person anymore – he was disenchanted in a bad, bad way. Jimmy _used_ to be his best friend, but the world wasn't his friend anymore. His parents didn't love him; he mustn't have loved them either. After all, they never paid him any attention. Not of the good sort, anyway. If he'd truly loved them, they'd have known and loved him back. The world wasn't the loving, caring home he'd believed it to be. Maybe he didn't really care about Jimmy either, maybe he'd always just believed that. Maybe Jimmy didn't care about him, either, but did it really matter? Even if Jimmy still cared, he didn't – and for all of Jimmy's caring, what did it get him? It didn't change the fact. _He_ didn't care. He just had a... a break, that's all. He was a teenager. They do crazy shit sometimes."

"Killing someone's not the same, Parker."

"I know, I know. But what would you do if you felt the whole world was your enemy; if _living_ was your enemy? How hurt would you feel, how _angry_? Would you just crawl away to die, or would you hit back? Because, in that instance, turning away isn't an option. Starting again isn't an option. When you've had something taken from you, you don't just let it go and go on anyway. You go get it back, or you go out there and show whoever it was who took it from you just what a horrible thing they'd done. You make them _pay_! They have to know they were so wrong! So they won't do it again – so you won't have wasted your life, won't have just played the gullible fool your whole life, so what you lost won't have been in vain. This is all pretty regular stuff."

"But he knew that wasn't the way, surely!"

"Not anymore, Jarod. Not anymore. Why do you think he became Lyle? He wasn't Bobby anymore. He didn't open his heart up to anyone like that anymore. He wasn't going to let himself be hurt like that again."

"He let himself become just as bad as th-"

"Oh, come on!" Parker interrupted. "Yeah, he _let_ himself. But don't say he didn't have reason. Don't say that, Jarod."

"Raines-"

"You're not seriously going to blame him, are you? Because he's not the only Goddamn person in the world, Jarod. What about Bobby's parents, what about his teachers? What about Jimmy? Why didn't anyone ever try to reach him? Raines was just as messed-up as the rest of them, and still is. You've got to stop thinking of him as... as a healthy, logically-thinking person. He can't have helped Bobby. He couldn't help himself, and all he thought about _was_ himself. Well, didn't he? Didn't he? He was all about himself but really all about the illness, the sickness of that place?"

"And what about your mom?"

She frowned. "What about her?"

"Why didn't she do anything?"

"How could she have, Jarod? She was dead."

"She can talk to Ethan."

"Lyle's an Empath, Jarod. He's not an ISP."

"I know that, but even as an Empath, he can still sense things. Another person's will, even. Emily and I were talking the other day and..." He fell short. Was this really the sort of thing he wanted to tell Parker?

"And _what_? What would Emily know anyway? It's not as though she knows Lyle the way we do."

Jarod sighed heavily. "She may know him better, actually."

Parker laughed. "What are you talking about, Jarod?"

"Come on, Parker, you know as well as I do..." He fell short again. Did she? Did she know they were "together"?

"Emily told you?" Parker asked, seemingly surprised.

So she did know. He didn't know if he should be pissed, or relieved. She hadn't told _him_, had she? But maybe she'd just been protecting Emily and Hubertus. He couldn't say for sure her motivations, and he wasn't up for Simming it right now. It was late, he was tired. "Yes. She told me. I'm her brother, Parker."

"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" she replied. "But you should've seen how hard it was for me to finally drag it out of Lyle. He wanted me to think he'd just... decided one day to be friends with Emily, or she'd decided to befriend him. He was really resistant to telling me, actually. Well, actually, I can understand why. He doesn't honestly love her – he loves _me_! Or wants me. He's just playing some little game with your sister."

"You think so, Parker?"

"Yeah. I do. He told me the other day... we have a son, Jar. Me and him. According to him, anyway. The Tower made us one. Reagan, Silvie and Grace have a brother."

Jarod frowned. "Grace?" He'd never heard of anyone called Grace before? Was Grace Lyle's name for his and Emmy's new baby, the one waiting to be born?

"My daughter," Parker said oddly. She'd told Jarod about her baby before, that she'd lost the baby. At least, he'd found out about the accident and she'd told him she'd been pregnant, told him she couldn't have children anymore because of it, would never be a mother. She'd only told him because she'd been pissed at Sam for leaving Blue Cove to be with his beloved Jane. And, really, why would she not be pissed? The guy was _her_ Convergence partner.

"I thought you didn't know the sex of your baby," Jarod said.

"I don't, but that skank Lyle thinks she was a girl."

"He said that?"

Parker thought back to the incident in the corridor, to all of the instances since. "He called her..." She stopped talking. Actually, wait. No. He hadn't called her Grace. He... hadn't. So why had she thought he had? She frowned. Why had she got that impression? She couldn't explain it. "Yeah, he called her Grace," she lied. "Right, and I also found out something else. You know Naomi?"

"Mmm. Yeah, I do. Has the Centre finally got a lead on them?"

"No, not the Centre. But I met Randolph's daughter. She was visiting Lyle. Don't ask me why; she just was. I think she's Naomi. And Lyle was, too. Back in university. Well... Lyle used her to help in his little schemes, that much is true. And he may still be using her. She mayn't know she's in with Naomi, but I think she is."

"How do you know this?"

"I figured it out from the bits and pieces Amy told me."

"Randolph's daughter?"

"I know. Freaky, huh?"

"Is she dangerous?"

Parker froze. "No, Jarod! And don't you do anything to her, either. She's not a bad person."

Jarod laughed. "You like her, huh?"

"She was nice to me."

"Maybe she was playing you?"

"Ha, ha," Parker scowled.

Jarod shrugged. "I'm just saying. If she's Lyle's pal, you can't rule it out. Can you?"

Parker scowled silently. "I think Lyle's up to something. And not just with your sister."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

"Did you hear me, Jarod? He's up to something. We may have to stop him."

"I heard you," Jarod replied.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I don't like-"

"I know you don't like violence, Jarod, but you've gotta defend yourself. And he's already go to your sister."

"He hasn't got to Emily. It's not like that."

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Sure, it's not like that. Then how is it?"

Jarod frowned heavily. Would it be wise to tell her? He wasn't so sure, actually. He'd already made that mistake, already confirmed that Emily and Lyle were in some kind of relationship. "He told Emily they have Convergence," he lied smoothly.

Parker laughed, half hysterically. "Lin was his Convergence partner, stupid! If Emily believes that, then she's a fool. If you believe it, then you're an even _bigger_ fool! Wake up, Jarod!"

Jarod couldn't believe he was about to say what he was, but he pushed on: "What if Emily _is_ Lin?"

Parker didn't laugh this time. "Lin was Mimi, you dummy. I told you about Mimi. I told you about Lin. You _know_ she's dead. Why are you saying this crazy shit? They're not even the same _age_!"

"My mother's maiden name was Cooper, Parker," Jarod replied.

"I _know_ that!" she growled. "Lyle's always making out he's so in love with her, the sick freak! Just because Kyle's dead and he thinks it's Pretty funny, Frankenstein – to piss you off!"

"I've never heard that before."

Parker snorted. "Oops!" she intoned. "Don't let that get back to Lyle, will you?" She laughed angrily.

"Maybe he just says it to piss you off, Parker. To make you jealous."

"I couldn't care fucking less!" she growled.

"But he likes to pretend you would. Like you're secretly in love with him, too."

Parker laughed hysterically. "Fuck, I wish he was dead!"

"Don't say that."

She laughed again. "He just told Emily that so she'd blab to you, and you'd think, _Ooh, ah, I can't waste him, it'll hurt my sister_. It's bullshit, Jarod!"

"I know Emily was Mimi. She told me."

Parker laughed. "Lyle's brainwashed her."

"Brainwashed a Mediator, Parker?" Jarod asked disbelievingly.

"She's not a Mediator – Mimi was!"

"And Emmy's Mimi."

Parker shook her head. "I saw your sister, Jarod, and she doesn't look anything like Mimi. You think I wouldn't recognise my own best friend?"

"The last time you saw her she was still a child, Parker. She was _thirteen_. How would you recognise her after all that time, when you'd already convinced yourself she was dead? Even Lyle thought she was dead, and they're Convergence partners."

"She was _fifteen_!" Parker snapped.

"Mom changed her age on her paperwork so the Centre would have a harder time of finding her, if they ever thought to start looking."

Parker scoffed. "Oh, and what, Cooper told you this, did she? She told you this herself – that Emily was Mimi?"

"No. Emily did."

"Then maybe you should talk to your mom."

Jarod scowled. "You're calling _me_ easy, Parker. _You_ are? After you just swallowed Randolph's daughter's crap without a second thought? Did you ever think she's working with her old man, ever think she's trying to set your brother up? No, I bet you didn't think that, did you?"

Parker snorted. "What the fuck is wrong with you, _Jarod_? He's not my brother, and he's not your brother, either. He's just the loser who brainwashed your sister into thinking she's someone she damn well isn't and got her knocked up – twice! He's a fucking _user_!"

"In your opinion."

She laughed. "Oh, don't kid yourself, Jarod! It's what he wants! For God sake, have a bit of foresight. He's just trying to fuck things up – between you and your family, and between you and me. And you wanna know why – because we could _destroy_ him, if we stood _together_! And he's bloody scared! He's scared! We have the fucking upper hand, Jarod! Don't let that go! Don't let him win out of sentimentality! He's nothing but a monster and he's just waiting for the end to come knocking. We have to stick together!"

"Sure, you and me, Mel."

"You and me, stupid!" she agreed fiercely.

"And how do we do that when we're on opposite sides, Parker? How do we stick together? Go on, Parker, you tell me."

"He wants to integrate with Bobby. I think we should help him."

"_We?_"

"Well, you're the more experienced Pretender."

"I don't have any experience with that kind of thing. You do."

"Well, I'm sick of him. I'm not bloody in love with him. I won't do it alone, Jarod. I need your help. He can influence _me_. He hasn't got that power over you yet. I fucking _hope_!"

"And you've met Bobby, have you?"

"Yes, actually. In any case, I assume I have. It may be that I've just been deluding myself all along, but it's not really that important. The only thing that matters is that Lyle believes I've bought his little game. And I think-"

"If you haven't met Bobby then how do you know there _is_ any such person? Who says they're not the same person? Who says they're successive personalities? Have you asked Angelo? Or another Empath, a high-Class Empath?"

Parker sobered, at that thought. Didn't Darla still call him Bobby, just as if they were the same person? And she'd known him back in the old days? What did that mean – did it really mean they were the same person, after all? That Lyle had been having one over her, all this time? She didn't like that thought. Not a single bit.

"No, I haven't spoken to any other Empath, Jarod, but I'm not an idiot," she replied back frostily. "Even Raines believes they're different personalities."

"Raines is an idiot."

Parker scoffed. "That's cute, Jarod. Calling your own uncle an idiot."

"He _is_ an idiot, and he's not my uncle. Edie was my aunt, and she wasn't even that really. But I'll concede her that privilege, out of respect to Dad, but Raines can go and drop dead, for all I care. He's not my uncle!"

"Aw!"

"Awww!" he growled back.

"You just don't want us to be related," she teased.

"We wouldn't be anyway," he replied, a bit iffy.

Parker rolled her eyes. "Has he told Emily he thinks she's his wife from another life, and that I was their daughter?"

Jarod coughed. "What? Has who told Emily that? Lyle? Hell, no! And if he has, she hasn't told me."

Parker laughed. "No wonder!"

"Where'd you hear that?"

"Bobby."

"Don't you mean Supposed Bobby?"

"Nope. I mean Supposed Lyle Pretending to be Supposed Bobby. How's that for confusing?"

"Not a Pretender."

"Empaths can Pretend, too."

"_Empaths_ – not that idiot Lyle!"

"Don't underestimate him, Jarod. He's got Noah's upgrades. He can't be such a bad Empath."

"If he even _has_?"

"The Tower sure think he has, and they ran a diagnostic."

"Says Lyle, I bet. And how'd that go?"

"Badly."

"Yeah. I wonder why?"

Parker frowned. "You think he's messing with them? What, with their equipment, too? Oh, but he's a real big idiot, he is!"

"He _is_! I didn't say he wasn't skilled at manipulating people, Parker. But he's a bloody nut case!"

Parker laughed. "You're funny today, Jar."

"Laugh it up, girl. Laugh it up."

She shook her head. "Meanie!"

"You were mean to me first. Putting this on me."

"You're the Child of Prophecy!"

He scoffed. "Stuff that! I'm over that! Actually, I don't recall ever _not_ being over it. I never wanted to be the Child of Prophecy, Parker! I still don't want to be!"

"But you want to fight the good fight."

"On my _own_ terms!"

"You can't always have everything on your own terms, Jarod, and you know that."

"I do bloody know it – and I think I've earned the right to have a couple of things on my own terms!"

"Don't be demonstrative."

"I'm not being _demonstrative_! Oh, do you want to see me play that card?"

"You're a real shit sometimes, you know that?" Parker told him, but not unkindly.

"And so are you!" he fired back.

"Naturally," she agreed, with a grin.

"Only _you_ could smile about that," he groused.

She dropped the smile. "Now you're just being an ass."

"So what?"

"So – _can it_! You're supposed to be my friend."

"And what am I supposed to be when you shove the knife in my back and twist, Parker? Blind? _Stupid?_"

She glared at her bedroom wall. "Forgiving," she replied darkly.

He laughed, just as darkly. "Well fuck, Mel, if that's _all_ you're asking – maybe you should shack up with loser Bobby."

"You're the loser!" she snapped. Why was he being such an ass? Was he deliberately trying to hurt her, because he was bloody succeeding. She ripped her phone away from her ear and hung up, and just to be sure he didn't ring back, she got up and disconnected it.

He could bloody ring Sydney if he wanted to diss someone else. She felt like punching him in the face!

And she didn't believe Mimi was still alive!

.

Jarod turfed the phone across the room, not even caring if it broke. Yeah, sure, Mel was his _friend_! She was his friend but everything she said these days began and ended with that psycho, Lyle. Even his own sister preferred the lunatic to him. He was sick of it! He didn't even know why Parker bothered with the freak – they both knew he wasn't her _real_ brother. Her real brother was damn well dead. And nothing was going to change that fact.

And now she expected him to take care of Lyle? And what if he did, then she'd just blame him for _that_, too! Right now, she blamed it all on Lyle – because he could "influence" her – but when he was gone she wouldn't be able to blame it on him, then. And then she'd be pissed he'd killed him, because she _liked_ him.

It wasn't bloody fair – and worse than that, it was stupid! Stupid and _dangerous_!

And he was just sick of it.

Sick of his whole life being a pointless joke. He couldn't even talk to the woman he loved without pissing her off, without making her life a misery – along with his own! Could that even be called love, or was he just as psycho as Lyle? Was he just obsessed with her, too? Well, was he? He didn't even _know_! How could he not _know_?

He got up and left the room, before he started bawling like a little kid. He needed to find something to set his mind to.

Walking into the other room, he bumped into Emily. He ignored her and went on walking, to the front door and outside. It was dark but he didn't care. He just had to get out, to get some fresh air.

Emily didn't come after him. She couldn't leave her kid on his own, after all.

.

Parker watched Silvie intently from across the kitchen table. She, Debbie and Silvie were having breakfast together, and it had occurred to Parker that Silvie may be using her, too, using them all, along with her dad. Had she really had a falling out with him, or had it all just been for show? Of course, she didn't like to think such things about Debbie's best friend, about her _own_ best friend's daughter, but she had to consider all the options, didn't she?

"Do you know if the baby's a boy or a girl yet?" she asked Silvie, reaching for her coffee ostensibly.

"I do," Silvie replied, and Debbie widened her eyes, turning to stare at her.

"Oh my God, Silvie! You never told me that! Have you told Dad yet?"

Silvie nodded quietly. "I want it to be a surprise, Debbie."

Debbie feigned a growl. "Well, it's either a boy or it's a girl, Silvie! You'd best just tell me now! No surprises necessary! Am I going to have a little brother or a little sister?"

Silvie smiled and shook her head a little, her long, dark hair swooshing about her face. "It's a surprise."

Debbie crossed her arms. "Just make sure it's a girl. I want a sister," she said.

Silvie laughed.

Debbie feigned a sour expression and went back to her breakfast. "What about you, Parker? Had any luck in the romance department?"

"As a matter of fact, Silvie's dad and I have a son."

Silvie coughed.

Parker had to fight hard not to grin. Oh, so that had unsettled her, had it? Well – good!

"Um, you and Lucky have a kid?" Debbie asked uncertainly. Lyle was her friend too, not just Silvie's dad. Parker knew that. Actually, she rather liked the uncertainty in Debbie's voice. Not so much Silvie's dumb nick name Debbie had taken to calling Lyle by, along with his daughter, but the confusion, sure, the feeling that maybe her friend wasn't such a great guy after all.

"Aster. She's talking about Aster, Debbie," Silvie told her.

"Mo's friend?" Debbie asked, with a frown.

Silvie nodded, then glanced at Parker. "Geronimo – Jarod's clone – and he were placed under Sarah's care prior to assignment with the Centre."

"You didn't say Aster was your brother, or Parker's son," Debbie told her.

"I know I didn't."

Debbie frowned, looking around at Parker. "Are you really upset?" she asked.

"No," Parker replied, in a smooth lie. "I was, but now I'm not. I assume you heard this from your dad," she said to Silvie.

"No. Actually, Lyle told me."

Parker smiled. "So your dad did tell y-"

"Her younger brother, Lyle," Debbie explained. "We're the same age. From Misery."

Parker frowned, then she remembered there'd been a boy living in Misery who'd looked a lot like Bobby. His name had been Lyle. He was in jail now, as she recalled. The townspeople had even assumed Bobby was his father, even if he'd never known his parents. They'd always said he'd land himself in some nasty mess – and then he had. "Lyle's your brother?" she asked, meeting Silvie's eyes. She'd almost forgotten all about the little weirdo. He'd certainly never spoken to her, and she hadn't gone out of her way to talk to him. Actually, she'd deliberately avoided him. He'd been friends with that Gloria, Bobby's old high school sweetheart.

"Mmm. We sometimes talk on the telephone."

"And you believed him?" Parker returned, then glanced at Debbie. "You do know why he was put in jail in the first place, don't you? You know what he did?"

Debbie nodded silently.

"You know he's fucking insane? You know he raped an innocent girl in a _coma_?"

"I know all that," Debbie replied quietly.

"Well, don't you forget it, Debbie. 'Cause that's what Lyle's like. Your _friend_. He's just the same. Where do you think his son got it, in the first place?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Silvie interrupted, shooting Parker a dark look. "I'm not going to hold it against you, because you really _don't_ know what you're talking about, but I'd appreciate if you stopped that sort of talk this instant."

Parker glared at her angrily, eyes like dark fire. Silvie was a real bloody fool, and that was an insult to her mother's memory! "You, _girly_, you're the one who doesn't _know_ what she's talking about! You're completely under your insane dad's spell and you don't even know it! He's going to screw you over – and anyone you care about, if you even know _how_ to care about anyone but yourself – and then he's going to leave you by the wayside to rot like he did his wife, Che Ling. Wake the fuck up, already! And don't you tell me how to talk in my own home!"

Silvie didn't look half as pissed as Debbie, who was practically fuming. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Aster," Silvie told her, "but, you know what, you're not entirely helpless yourself, either. You have the Inner Sense. You have Perception. If you blocked out knowing about your son, then you did it for a reason."

Parker shot up from her chair, her face darkening with vicious anger. She pointed sharply to the door. "Leave," she spat, in barely restrained fury, "before I come over there and _remove_ you!"

"Just so you know, my father _tried_ to help you, but he was just _one_ person! Aster was a long time in the making, and if you'd _really_ tried, you might've known what to expect before then."

"Get the fuck out of my house, you traitor!" Parker hissed in a deadly voice.

"Thank you for breakfast," Silvie told her. "See you later, Debbie. We can talk some more about the baby then, if you like."

Debbie didn't say anything, she just remained completely silent, not knowing what to do, whose side to take. Silvie was her friend, but so was Parker. And Silvie had Broots, but Parker had no-one, not really. She pushed everyone else away. Everyone except for her and a select few.

She had to stay.

Silvie offered Parker a smile and left in the direction Parker had pointed.

"That fucking bitch!" Parker hissed, the second she heard the front door close behind Silvie.

Debbie didn't say anything. She'd thought Parker had gotten used to Silvie by now. She'd always seemed to like Silvie, in the beginning. She'd even stuck up for her to her dad when he'd been less than nice towards her, when he'd dissed her merely because she was a Goth and believed in Wicca and the spirit world, because she had that Canadian accent. Parker had always stood up for her, up until the moment she'd discovered the woman to be Lyle's (and her best friend's) daughter. Then she'd grown wary.

And now she seemed to detest Silvie just as much as she did Lyle. Debbie didn't like that.

"I hope you're watching out for that one!" Parker snapped angrily. "And your dad, too. If you ask me, he's a bloody fool for ever having shacked up with her. I don't care if they struck up an online friendship – if you ask me, it was one bloody big set up after another. As soon as he'd discovered who Marlon really was, he should've dumped her flat on her face. But, I forget, he's in love with Lyle, too. And that boyfriend of yours – Cox!"

Debbie frowned at her. "Excuse me, Parker, but he's not my boyfriend. He's my fiance, and my Convergence partner. We're going to be married, and then he'll be my husband."

Parker laughed, her eyes flashing brightly, hysterically. "Oh, the familiar excuse!" She laughed harder. "You're marrying a child molester! A child killer, Deborah! You must be a blind fool, girl!"

Debbie said nothing, just swallowed any angry retort she might have. Parker could insult them all as much as she liked, Debbie wasn't giving her anything.

Parker seemed to calm down some and fixed her gaze coldly to hers. "Convergence partner, Debbie? You do know one of you actually has to have the Anomaly for you to have Convergence together, don't you, dear?"

"Yeah, I do," Debbie replied stiffly, not even really knowing why. Parker was being a real bitch and she should've just left already. She got up out of her chair, deciding that she was done with breakfast anyway. She just wasn't very hungry anymore. "My, Mel, I thought you'd've figured it out already, being that Frankie is Raines's love child. Isn't it obvious? He's a Healer, of course."

That wiped the malicious grin right off Parker's face. "No he isn't!" she spat.

"Yes, he is, Parker," Debbie said. Sure, she'd called Parker by her first name – which she detested _vehemently_ – but her little moment of cattiness was over now, and she was pissed at herself for having risen to the bait, anyway. "Frankie is a Healer, and you're not going to convince me otherwise. I know what my fiance is and isn't. And I know he didn't kill _or_ molest Ursula. And just so you know, Raines _isn't_ your father."

"Good for him!" Parker spat angrily.

Debbie shook her head and walked around the table, heading for the door. "When you've decided to drop the venomous nonsense, you know where to find me," she said, and walked out the door. Yeah, she might've been a sucker, but she wasn't a complete fucking idiot. She wasn't going to stick around and be talked to as though she was dirt under someone's shoe by her own friend. No thanks.

.

Cherice walked to the door and opened it.

"Fuck off, Fulton!" Parker growled, not even waiting for her to say anything, just pushing past her violently and storming past her, into the house.

Cherice hurried after her, but Parker didn't even stop. "Mel!"

Parker ignored her words.

Eddie and Dexter appeared in the hallway in front of her, coming out of the kitchen where they'd been having breakfast.

"Go back into the kitchen, kids," Cherice told them seriously.

Eddie frowned at her mom but grabbed Dexter's hand, turning back to the kitchen. Parker smiled at them sinisterly, hoping they got the heebies, hoping they moved it quick. She didn't even want to _look_ at them!

Alvin stepped away from the safety of the kitchen door and walked over, straight past Eddie who'd reached out a hand to grab for him and missed. "Good morning, big sister!" he greeted her, and reached for her hand.

Parker lifted her hand up out of his reach and glared at him.

He didn't flinch, just went on smiling at her stupidly.

"Alvie!" Eddie hissed, but not daring to come any closer. "Alvin Egil Raines!"

"You should listen to your big sister," Parker told Alvin, with a mean smile.

William walked over and picked up his kid. "Good morning, Mel," he said, not even bothering to sound hospitable. She walked into his house, insulted his wife, and threw her angry vibes at his kids! That was not okay, not cute.

Alvin snuggled up to his dad and resumed peering at Parker curiously.

"Put the spawn down and come find me when you're ready to start being a grown-up!" Parker spat, pushing past him roughly and stalking away down the hall, heading for the backyard. She sat down on the swing set and glared at the back door. What the fuck was taking him? She wasn't going to wait forever!

Five minutes later, Raines came out and walked over, stopping in front of the swing. "That was uncalled for, Miss Parker. Talking to my family like that." Away from the kids, he didn't bother calling her by her first name. He knew she'd only hate him for the presumption of intimacy.

She shot to her feet and shoved him back, shoved him again. "You're supposed to be _my_ family!" she hissed in a deadly voice. "You're supposed to be my dad! I don't even give a _fuck_ about those little freaks!"

"Those little freaks, as you so kindly put it, are my children, Miss Parker. And Cherice is my wife."

"You never liked her before!" Parker spat. "You hate her!"

"I never hated her, Miss Parker. I didn't _like_ her, but I didn't hate her, either."

"Debbie said that Hell spawn, Cox, said you're not my dad!" she accused.

"I'm not your father, Miss Parker. You know that. You've known it for a long time, in fact. If I've said so, you know exactly why that was."

She glared at him murderously and growled. "Remind me again, asshole!"

"You and I both know it's what the Tower needs to hear; what's best for them to hear, whether they know it or not."

"You know who my father is!" she spat in furious accusation.

Against his better judgement, he replied: "Of course I know, Mel. I've always known."

Parker's eyes flashed murderously.

"And you know, too. Inside, you know."

Parker glared at him, breathing heavily. Actually, she didn't know anything – just that she wanted to fucking _murder_ him right now! Not quick, like he'd done her mom. Nice and slow, like he'd murdered Edie! "You set that fuck Lyle onto me! You planned it right from the start! You _knew_ Theodore was dead, knew you'd lost everything when you fell out with my parents, but you weren't willing to let me go that easily. You still wanted a piece of the action, didn't you? And you thought you'd win my trust back with some hick fuck-up from the middle of nowhere!" She laughed harshly. "You're nothing but a lying, two-timing fool, Liam!"

"Am I? Oh well, maybe I am." He shrugged. "Tell me again what business of yours that is?"

"You're the sick fuck who said you were my daddy!" she spat.

"Yes, but I never tried to take you away from your real father. I said we could be friends, I never said I wanted to be your _only_ friend. You have a real problem, love. You've gotten into the habit of thinking absolutely everything _must_ be about you. Well, you see, that just isn't so, honey. Not everything everyone does is about you, or in reaction to you. Well, there may be those who care about you, and those who want to use you and would never think twice to care about the outcome, the consequence for you, but you're just one person of many.

"You are an important part of Lyle's life, that is true, but there are other people who are important to him, too. Not just you.

"And yes, I'd like to be a friend to you, but I can't force something that just won't get started.

"Don't you see that it's the past that's got a hold of you, and now it's holding you back, keeping from you living in the here and now, from moving on and living in the present. You've got to accept the past as the past and decide what your next move's gonna be, hon. You have to start living, Miss Parker. Don't let them scare you off, don't scuttle back into the shadows and hope they won't come after you, because they're always coming, but whilst they're coming and they're not here yet, the world goes on turning, life goes on. We're all pressured, but we don't all react by caving in or blowing up. Some of us just _live_. It's hard, but it's not impossible."

"It is when my whole family's _insane_!" she spat. "When they all want to see me fall on my face so they can laugh at me and say, 'Listen up, girl, we know better, so if you just follow us, you'll get through'. When all you want is to _own me_, and _control me_, and be the fucking boss of the whole _world_!"

"Yes, well, I apologise for how terrible your life's been, Miss Parker. I apologise that it's only gone from bad to worse, that everyone and everything you ever cared for have failed you, the people you loved left you, taken from you, the things you aspired for not quite what they seemed. I apologise for all that, but I am not singularly to blame for all of that. And seeing as it's in the past, we won't be laying any blame, but you've got to see that you can change how the future plays out, if you try. You can change how _you_ respond to your situation."

He sighed. "If you've nothing holding you back, nothing keeping you here but further resentment, why don't you transfer to another branch? Why don't you give up trying to bring Jarod back in? You've nothing to prove to James anymore. He's gone. Why don't you try to live your own life, now, instead of James's; instead of Catherine's? You can love them as much as you want to love them, but love isn't designed to be a punishment. It's meant to make you happier, isn't it? You have your own dreams. What are _your_ dreams? Not your father's dreams, not your mother's dreams – not the company's dreams? What are your dreams?"

She laughed in a particularly self-depreciating manner, her eyes dark with mistrust, anger, hurt. "They'd never let me go, you imbecile! I _tried_ that! I tried that – and someone I cared about deeply ended up _dead_!"

"They don't own you, Miss Parker," he told her seriously.

"Yes, they do!" she spat.

He sighed heavily. "They own you because you believe they do, my dear. Because they know they can get away with it: no matter how unfair they treat you, they can get away with it. They don't own Jarod, and they never will. Because as much as it might seem they do, he just doesn't buy it. And even if they _did_ own him, if you – or someone else – brought him back to the Centre tomorrow, they'd only be deluding themselves that they really owned him, that they really controlled every single thought that crossed his mind, every single feeling he felt. They couldn't _handle_ truly owning another human being, and they don't deserve to, either. Look at the marvellous job they did with your brother, Theodore; the magnificent job they did on Alex. All of their great treasures, wasted, squandered. They couldn't see what was truly important, and, in the end, they let the magic die. Don't you let them talk you into that foolishness, Miss Parker. I may not be your father, but I'm no child, either. So, listen up good, girl: They do not _own you_. They never _will_!"

Parker shook her head, no longer angry at him. He was crazy, was all. "You are so stupid," she said. "You are so, so stupid. You say they don't own you, they couldn't own any of us, if they tried, but they already own _you_!"

He shrugged.

"You and your evil little imps!"

"Well, if they do, they just better be sure they can handle my evil little imps," he replied casually. He turned back toward the door. "Would you like to come inside and have something to drink?"

"Bugger you!" she growled.

"The kids would appreciate it."

"They're not _my_ siblings!" she spat.

"That may be so, Miss Parker, but they'd like to get to know you. They're just kids, they're not going to bite."

"Fuck you, and fuck your kids."

The back door opened and Eddie stepped outside, closing the door after her. "Dad, Dexter wants a hug before Mom drives us to school. And Sam called to talk to you but Mom answered so he said he'd call back some other time." She shrugged, brushing her ponytail with a hand. "Do you like my ponytail?"

"You look very athletic."

She glanced at Parker, an odd look plastered to her face. "Is that like code for cool?" she asked.

He smiled. Then said, "Absolutely."

She beamed back at him. "Cool, Dad! I'll tell Dex you'll be in in a minute and, like, make sure you have a good day at work."

"I just may."

She nodded knowingly. "We have soccer today, so I'm totally amped. Bliss thinks he's a real good bet, but I'll be doin' my own thing – and he ain't seen _nothin'_ yet!" She smiled, flicked her ponytail – "Kisses, Daddy!" – and turned on her heel, disappearing back into the house.

Parker glanced at William. She almost said, "What'll you do when they take that one from you, too?", but she bit her tongue in time and held back. "The spawn are getting impatient," she said, instead. "You might want to make haste, before they break out the Hell hounds."

"Mmm." He nodded. "If you want to talk, you know where I live." He reached for her arm, thought better of it and let it go. "Good day, Miss Parker." He smiled at her and went back inside, back to his family.

Parker walked around the side of the house and went back to her car. Raines was an asshole and he in no way deserved what he'd been given, but he was the one with the family, the loving kids, and what did she have? What did she really have?

She had nothing.

.

Walking into work, she stalked over to Lyle and put her arms around him and hugged him. Well, if she didn't have anything, no, that wasn't right – she had this lunatic. He had promised her that much. He was smiling at her in a particularly suspect manner, as though actually trying to channel someone's brother, so she didn't immediately notice the Tower Sweepers, Dr. Brown standing by, waiting for the cute, little spectacle to be over and done with.

She stepped away, pissed that he hadn't hugged her back, and then she noticed the Sweepers, saw Brown step closer.

"Time to go, Lyle," he said.

She frowned. "Where are you going?" she asked Lyle. He said nothing, just smiled at her.

Brown grabbed his arm, tugged him around, away from Parker.

Parker made to reach for him, but Brown met her eyes swiftly, obviously ticked off, and his eyes were yellow, and he didn't even have to touch her to push her back, to say, loud and clear, "Back off, Parker!"

She always knew she'd had a good reason for not liking him. He'd been her family's doctor for as long as she'd lived, but she'd never liked him. And now she understood why. He was a Reaper, and a real Tower lackey 'til the day he died.

She didn't say a word back. She didn't get angry – the Tower wished. She just let them lead her fake brother away, to wherever she didn't know.

Can't have been so bad if he'd been smiling, she told herself, before she remembered how he'd been smiling at her. He wasn't her brother, would never be her _real_ brother, but he'd sure made a good show of it.

She walked to her office. Sydney was waiting outside with Broots, Darla touching her lipgloss up in a compact mirror.

Sydney glanced at Darla silently and Parker didn't even need him to tell her Darla had been assigned to Jarod's Retrieval Team, and Lyle had been turfed, along with Courtland's concept of common courtesy, if he'd ever possessed such a thing.

The guy just did his own thing, and he didn't give two stuffs what anyone else thought.

In her office, Sydney explained Courtland's latest rash decision, and Parker plastered a scowl to her face, looking Darla up and down, told the woman she'd best brush up, or else she'd be off the team just as soon as blinking 'cause the Parker name had clout in this corporation. No, it didn't have clout, not anymore, but she wasn't letting on she'd figured this one out. She was their good little girl, right? She was a blind fool, right? And the Tower ate it up. There were some things they were better off not knowing, as Raines had said.

"Where are they transferring Lyle to?" she asked Sydney, when Broots had left with Darla.

"Tower branch," he replied shortly, and Parker didn't swear the way she wanted to. And he'd said they were playing nice with his upgrades. Yeah right, not anymore.

The idiot had let them talk him into believing they owned him until they really had, had given them all the cards, and now, when they took him away, he just smiled. Wow, that was messed-up. Alex messed-up.

She suppressed a shiver. Oh crap, did that mean he was ready to die now? Because that sucked, and she'd never saved anyone. Not a single someone.

She forced a grin onto her face, turned to Sydney and smiled silently. Yep, wasn't she just over the moon? "Oh, I'm havin' a good day!"

"I'm feeling in a coffee mood," he replied, and Parker's eyes lit up. Yeah, yeah. Now that he mentioned it, she _had_ snubbed her coffee at breakfast, too pissed off to drink it, anyway.

They headed for the coffee room and Parker smiled to herself. Yep, it was a good day! (Should have been a good day.) Why had she even hugged that fucker? What was her issue? Because of her little girly stint, Brown had had to reveal his true nature to her. Now he'd never trust her again, never believe her merely ignorant, a child. He'd always be accusing her of something in his mind. But she was having a good day.

She was rid of the sociopath. It could only be a dream come true. She wasn't going to think about Silvie or Reagan, she wasn't going to think about Emily, or that she may have been her friend, Mimi. No way in Hell! She wasn't going to think about the possibility of negative feedback, or that whatever bad thing befell Lyle might spell something equally as bad for his Convergence partner, who was very certainly _not_ Emily. Just because they had a kid together, and another on the way. Emily would be fine, wouldn't she? Jarod would make sure of that. She _had_ a brother who really cared about her. She had a mother and a father. Even if her freaky little boyfriend wound up dead, she would still be loved, by good, decent people.

Now that that freak was leaving town, they all had a reason to celebrate. Yep, she was having a fine day. She didn't notice that Sydney _wasn't_ smiling. When did he smile anyway? He was just naturally a cautious person.

In the coffee room, she walked over to the cupboard and took out two mugs, passing one to Sydney. Actually, she couldn't wait for Jarod to ring later. She'd be able to tell him the good news. Maybe, with the pressure off him to take care of the loony, he'd stop being so mad at her. She hoped so, because she still had to tell him about Darla. A competent Empath on his Retrieval Team, at last. She'd break the good news first. Maybe the bad news wouldn't sting as much then.

"I think this one's for you," Sydney said, and Parker snapped out of her thoughts abruptly.

"Sorry, what?" She looked at the mug Sydney was holding out to her and frowned. Then she noticed the little folded-up piece of paper and whatever that was. A flash drive or something. She took the cup off him, handed him her cup in return. "Thanks," in a drone. What the Hell?

She took the little piece of paper out of the cup and unfolded it, frowning at the handwritten words that reminded her uncomfortably of Mimi's. _You can still save them, baby._

She touched Sydney's arm. "Whose handwriting is this?" she asked, when he turned around.

"That's your brother's, Miss Parker. Don't you recognise it?"

She thought of all the times she'd seen him writing something, frowning. "No."

"I suppose that's because his writing looks different when he writes with his left hand. I only recognise it because I borrowed a couple of his Darcy O'Hara novels, which he has studiously written all over. And I bumped into him a few times in the supermarket with Raines's kids. But that's definitely his handwriting, Parker. Do you know what it means?"

"I think so," she replied dully. He was talking about the children, of course. He had to be. That was why he'd left her the flash drive. It had to have something on it that would help her rescue the kids.

"I'm not your daughter," she wanted to say. "Why are you putting this on me? I never wanted to save any kids – that was Momma." But, in fact, that wasn't true. A long, long time ago, she'd tried to save herself, her best friend, and her unborn baby.

She stuffed the piece of paper into her jacket pocket and looked up at Sydney with a smile. Now it was her turn to reassure him that everything was fine.

She, of course, pulled it off finely.


	7. Chapter 7

Parker walked back to her office, her earlier excitement having worn off. They still didn't have any leads on Jarod, and he still hadn't rung to celebrate the good news with her. Or taunt her about it. Now she just felt antsy, and it pissed her off. Not even Courtland had asked her to come up and talk to him, the ungracious pig. In the very least, he should've done that.

Closing her office door behind her, she was startled to see someone sitting on her couch – her _new_ couch – the older woman's small, stocking-covered feet up on the cushions and one of Darcy's novels in hand. Whoever the woman was, she didn't bloody know her. Parker felt a sudden chill run over her. What if this rude woman was some Tower creep? What if she'd found out about Lyle's little note to her and had come to apprehend her? And why was she reading _her_ romance novel?

Stepping away from the door quietly, Parker stalked over and stopped in front of the woman, who suddenly dropped her hands and the book to her lap, her eyes wide and a little bit frightened. Parker didn't think it was because she was glaring at her, or even her angry vibes – Tower people were resistant to that sort of thing, weren't they? – but maybe she was wrong. The woman wasn't even wearing a Tower pin, and, for some strange reason, she was wearing the exact same outfit that Darla had been wearing that morning. But even stranger than all of this, Parker noticed now, was that... crap, there was a dead woman sitting on her couch reading her flipping romance novel!

A dead woman who'd once been her brother's wife.

She dropped the glare in a hurry and just stared at the woman.

"Oh, sorry," the dead woman said... "you scared me. I didn't hear you come in. Though I'm rather sorry I've never read any of O'Hara's novel before – they're pretty cool. Sorry, um, French men: _mmm-mm_!"

Parker shot her a very disturbed look. Why was her brother's dead wife telling her all this, exactly? And which French men was she talking about?

Che Ling sighed, shutting the romance novel and setting it aside on the couch. "That's me screwed, I guess!" She frowned suddenly, then sighed again. "Oh, you don't know who I am, do you?"

"You're dead!"

"Meh, when did this happen?"

Parker gave her an even freakier look. "Lyle, Husband of the Year, murdered you!"

"Meh, why can't I get any hot French men?"

Parker stared at her. "Are you insane?" she asked, genuinely interested to know.

Che Ling sighed. "Can't stay here, can I? Man, that blows!"

"Hey!"

She pulled a face and stared at Parker. "Why are you yelling at me, girl? I'm _in shock_! You're supposed to be _nice_ to people who are in shock!"

"You're not in shock – you're dead!"

Che Ling shook her head. "Last I checked, dead people couldn't _boink_ living people!" she told her in tones of utmost certainty, then her eyes kind of widened and she calmed down real quick. "Stupid Christmas party! It's not my fault, it was the abhorrent liquor. And, for the love of God, why did he have to wear those-" She winced. "What am I saying? You don't want to hear any of this. Oh God!"

She was right, Parker really didn't want to hear that. In fact, it was probably illegal for her to hear it – given that her brother was supposed to be with Emily. "You're not dead?"

The other woman shook her head again. "But, man, oh man!, do I wish I was! Mah boss is gon' be spitt-in' chips!" She sniffed. "And I really wanted to meet Jarod. He looks so hot in his photograph."

Parker choked. "Excuse me?"

Che Ling looked around the room suddenly, feigning preoccupation, and even went as far as humming a Michael Bublé number quietly.

"Who the Hell exactly were you boinking at some stupid Christmas party?" Parker demanded, crossing her arms irritatedly.

Che Ling's eyes darted to hers abruptly and she suddenly seemed to get some of her courage back, because her eyes lit up and she straightened her back. "I don't think that's any of your business, frankly," she told Parker seriously.

"Uh-huh! It is my business if it was my brother," Parker returned coolly.

"Ooo! Do you mean – the cute one?"

Parker just stared at her.

"The one that goes by Mirage, or the one that goes by Idiot?" she asked, in a cool voice of her own.

Parker refrained from a very loud "Ewww!" and replied, "Lyle!"

Che Ling shivered and shuffled backwards a tiny, tiny bit. "I mean..." She tugged on a couple of strands of her hair needlessly, looking for the right words, declaring suddenly: "_I mean!_"

"What?"

"Ew! What are you saying? I would never take advantage of someone who trusted me like that – least of all my little brother!"

Parker coughed, seriously starting to doubt this woman's sanity. "Oh, okay, you'd never 'take advantage' – yet you bloody well married him!"

Che Ling's eyes widened and she sort of cringed. "When was this?" she whispered, sounding kind of frightened. "Oh, please, tell me we didn't..." She stopped talking, kind of gagging. The next second, she smacked her hands over her face, audibly sighing with relief. "Oh, _then_!" she mumbled from between her fingers. "That's okay then."

"What is wrong with you?" Parker asked. Yep, this chick was crazy. Dead, or possibly not dead, and crazy as Hell!

Che Ling removed her hands from her face and wiped a shaking hand over her brow. "Phew! I may be Japanese, but I don't think incest is cute! Harebrained, yuppie- I'd spank 'em all if they were my kids!"

"You're not... Japanese," Parker said lamely. "Your name's _Che Ling_!"

Che Ling grinned. "Cool, huh? Now all's I need is a motorbike and a machine p- _Whaaat?_ Okay, so maybe I do read a little manga. _But not those creepy ones!_"

"How old are you?" Parker asked.

"You should never ask a woman her age," Che Ling replied prissily, totally missing the point.

Parker scowled at her. Great, now she was talking like the Doctor's TARDIS. Just great! Well, the actress who'd played her, anyway, and that _wasn't_ great.

Che Ling started humming Michael Bublé again. After a moment, she glanced at Parker wildly. "What am I going to do? Henry will never want to boink me again! I'm a failure!"

"Henry," Parker replied darkly. Nope, she'd never heard of anyone by that name. Nobody she could be stuffed remembering, anyway. Nobody French and male.

Che Ling shook her head and Parker nearly leapt back in fright. Her hair had suddenly transformed to blonde, as if someone was pouring paint all over her head. Darla's exact same shade of blonde, in fact. And suddenly, she looked just like Darla did, too.

Parker stared at her.

"Oh, now you recognise me! How typically predictable," Darla moped morosely. She plomped back down onto the couch, picking the romance novel back up again and sniffing.

"Y-you're married to my brother and you're boinking some other guy?" Parker asked disbelievingly, for a lack of anything else to say.

"We're not married," Darla replied in a bored voice from behind the romance novel. Then she looked up and huffed. "We were never frickin' married! I don't marry wee creepy little..." she narrowed her eyes, "aliens!" She sniffed again. "Besides, he's not even a cute alien. I mean, he doesn't even have feelers or tentacles or alien sex pollen or anything. That's just not cute. Henry is much cuter with his dark shades and his hot butt..." She cleared her throat suddenly and stared at Parker with a frown. "Alright already! Give it a rest with the eyes. You hear me saying all this shit like you're my Dear Diary and you can't even be bothered to tell me to shut the Hell up! You're a real cute one! Some charmer you are! Just letting me incriminate myself shamelessly..." She sniffed. "Damn it! I don't wanna frigging die! What if I never get out of this Hell hole? Oh fuck!" She stared at Parker, leaping to her feet suddenly and throwing the romance novel down on the couch. "I hate your stupid brother! He's a selfish, self-impressed, self-destructive _jerk_! And, maaaan, I never even snogged him. I could've really peeved Lyle off!" She snickered childishly to herself. "Not that he would ever have found out, sadly to say. Still, why didn't I? Who knows what I could've learnt!"

She sniffed miserably again. "The jerk could have at least told me he was leaving! Now what am I going to do?"

"Did you ever think _he_ didn't _know_ he was leaving?" Parker replied, drawing a weird look from Darla.

"Didn't... know?" She laughed. "Don't be stupid, stupid. Of course he knew! Bobby always knows!"

"Always?" Parker asked, not sounding convinced herself.

Darla sniffed, then shrugged. "I don't know. I guess. Maybe. Maybe I just feel safer believing it. How the Hell am I supposed to know? I'm not really a Six, you know! I'm just a measly Four." She dropped her shoulders, staring at her little stockinged feet. "Oh man, oh man, what are they going to do to him? This could be bad – really bad!" She looked up at Parker suddenly, her eyes wide on the other woman's. "What if they make him tell them about us somehow? What if they come after Nyoko and Mal and Carol-Joyce and I? Oh Hell, oh Hell! This is bad, bad, bad!"

Parker leant a little closer to the hysterical blonde woman. "He wouldn't sell you out, Che Ling," she told her, feeling a strange twinge in her stomach at her own words. "You're his sister."

Darla sniffed, wiping a hand over her eye. "You think so? What if they tortured him? What if they found his half-alien, half-human babies and tortured them? I'd sell my sister out if they were torturing my mutant babies – any day!"

Parker fought the urge to baulk at that and kept her expression serious. "If he sold you out, he'd be breaking the Empath code of honour, and then that'd make him a traitor to his own kind. I don't think he'd enjoy being a traitor to his own kind, do you?"

Darla frowned, actually thinking about this. Obviously Empaths didn't do shock very well, because Darla wasn't acting very grown-up in Parker's opinion. Darla sniffed. "You don't even know Bobby. I mean, not to sound bitchy or anything, but you don't. You don't know what he believes in and doesn't believe in, and if they..." she winced, forcing herself to go on, "hurt... Oh, this is bad! What if he doesn't tell them and they kill him? Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Lyle wouldn't like that, if they killed him. He wouldn't like that at all. He might even come after us and... and... What if he blames us? What if he says it was us influenced his Robert in the wrong direction?" She looked at Parker suddenly, scared.

"Lyle doesn't know shit, Che Ling," Parker told her firmly, placing a hand on her arm in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture. "He doesn't even know Lyle _is Robert_."

Darla stared at her sadly. "My little brother! I never even told him I loved him! _That's bad!_ You're supposed to tell them."

Parker had a feeling it was bad. Darla was really losing it here. Like, losing her last marble. It was very bad. "Don't be stupid," she told her abruptly. "He's an... alien! Those guys are tough, right?"

Darla frowned. "Yeah," she agreed finally, a little out of it still. "Like Spock. He's cute, too. They _are_ tough." She smiled.

Parker moved her romance novel away and sat down on the couch, gesturing for Darla to sit down beside her and smiling at her in as friendly a manner as she could muster. Darla sat down quickly, smiling back at her.

"So, Che Ling, tell me what's really happening. Why do you think you're going to die? I don't like you talking like that, and who knows, I might even be able to help you out."

.

After the absolute horror that was calming Darla down and getting two cents' worth of anything remotely like making sense out of her, Parker really just needed something alcoholic to drink, but as drinking at work wasn't allowed, she settled for a coffee instead. Yeah, right. She could help Darla get out of this "Hell hole" as she'd called it, but she couldn't do anything about convincing Jarod to hand over the DSAs he had, incriminating evidence against the Centre or not. Even if Darla meant to give it to the FBI, Jarod still wouldn't hand it over. Shit, he'd worked with the FBI himself – and he hadn't given it to them then, so she highly doubted he would now.

It just wasn't going to happen. Not even if Darla asked really, _really_ nicely – and looked a million and one bucks to boot. And smiled cutely at him and batted her eyelashes, maybe put some of her _You can trust me, doll_ Empath vibes out there.

Jarod wouldn't buy it.

So yeah, Darla was still screwed. Or not screwed, as she'd pointed out earlier. If this Henry guy was her boss and she hadn't brought in the goods, she wouldn't be getting any little treats now. Actually, Parker couldn't even believe she was even thinking about that sort of thing, because it was beyond freaky, and she was really going to stop – just as soon as she got her hands on a hot coffee and Sydney was there to pester, because she really, really needed Sydney to be there so she could pester him about something inconsequential and wipe that whole image of Che Ling and FBI-guy-with-a-hot-butt going at it at some lame-ass Christmas party out of her head. She felt like such a perv – and she'd watched every single one of Van Dorian's porn flicks and never even blushed! Somehow, this was just creepier!

_I feel like Sydney feels whenever anyone brings up Jacob and Raines_, she thought with sudden horror, _be-ing together! Urgh! Poor Syd – now I know what it's like, I'll never mention it again._ Well, maybe just when Sydney wasn't around, she decided. She had to have something to laugh at Raines over, or else she'd probably want to go there and waste the freak. Her own daddy. Or not-daddy.

Anyway, it would be bad. He wasn't on the Waste Me Now list, so she couldn't. Everybody would think it was Fulton, and as much as she disliked the other woman, she didn't like the idea of the devilish imps being taken away and shoved into foster care, or some home. She'd really not liked boarding school all that much, and apparently Lyle hadn't liked the adopted life, either. And Cox _definitely_ hadn't! After all, he'd been accused of sexually abusing and murdering his baby sister, and she really didn't think he'd done it – despite what she'd said to Debbie – but someone sure as Hell _had_. And she didn't really want one of the imps ending up dead like Annie. She even still missed Annie sometimes.

So no, she couldn't kill Raines, but nobody said she had to stick around. Once she'd gotten Reagan and his Pretender pals out, she was blowing this town. Even if she'd miss Sydney and Debbie and that Nicky kid. Nicky, at least, knew how to look after himself; and Sydney wasn't exactly helpless, himself. And Michelle certainly wasn't! It was just Debbie that was the worry – shacked up with that freak Cox. Healer or no Healer, Parker didn't trust him. And Reapers freaked him out! If anyone ever came after Debbie with a couple of Reapers on a leash, he'd probably faint or run away and hide until it was all over and done – then Parker would have to come back and waste his sissy little ass for getting Debbie killed, and that could be incriminating.

_Note to self: Talk with Cox before blowing town._

She'd already decided she was doing this thing, which struck her as slightly freaky seeing as she hadn't even looked at what was on the flash drive and Simmed it for viability, but maybe she really was hankering after sticking it to Courtland, the ass!

Yeah, she could totally imagine that (no Simming necessary).

And if she rescued a couple of Centre kids, how impressed was Jarod going to be with her? She could just picture that scene, actually. He'd probably smile at her and she'd probably melt a little in the knees, and then-

She stopped at the coffee room door and mentally shook herself. Okay, what? No! She'd been reading too many romance novels because Jarod definitely wasn't _that_ easy! And it was really doing him a disservice for her to be thinking that way, as much as she liked the idea. Because he wasn't. No way. No way in Hell! Not even for her... in sexy lingerie.

She grabbed the coffee room door and pulled it open quickly, praying someone else was about. Anyone else!

Broots was sitting at the table, looking very dejected, which was when Parker remembered Silvie, his fiancee; Lyle's daughter. Oh, ah. That was not going to be nice. "Silvie rang me," he told her when she walked over, furiously fighting back a blush at her earlier thoughts. "She told me not to worry because... Because we're a family and she loves me and she knows I love her, t-too, so... So no matter what happens, we'll get through it somehow... because..." He stared at her, panicked. "Oh, God! It sounds like something out of a bad romance novel, doesn't it?"

Parker froze. "I'd love to... to say something witty and reassuring, Broots, but I really can't. All of my relationships have ended badly. I don't know if love wins out in the end, Broots. I really don't! I'm sorry."

"What are you apologising for?" he asked her, giving her a strange look. "You're Miss Parker. You don't apologise."

Which was true. Usually. But today felt different. Today _was_ different. Emboldened by that thought, Parker inched forward and patted his shoulder. "Still, I'm sorry for being so hard on you all the time. It's not as though I felt threatened by your raw masculine power or anything, so I really have no excuse."

Broots reached for the cookie jar in the middle of the table quickly, handing it to her. "That's okay," he said awkwardly. "I don't think I have any raw mas-masculine power anyway."

She took her hand off his shoulder and grabbed the cookie jar quickly, taking off the lid and grabbing a cookie. She sat down beside him, staring at the table. "Where's Syd?"

"Somewhere that isn't here, I guess," he replied, then randomly laughed.

Parker grabbed a cookie out of the jar and offered it to him. Yeah, she'd freaked him out. Now he was beating himself up. It freaked _her_ out. But maybe if he took the cookie he'd be too busy chewing on it to think about other stuff, like how they were both wondering who Courtland was going to pick on next. Who he was going to ship off to parts unknown next.

She turned and stared at him suddenly, her eyes wide. "When did you last see Sydney, Broots?"

"Um, he was writing an email to that writer and... I kinda left." He scratched his arm. "I mean, I don't like intruding on people's personal stuff."

"I wouldn't call it personal, Mr. Broots."

They both looked around and saw Sydney had appeared in the door, silently.

Parker grinned. "It was definitely personal, Syd. I can just tell. You wouldn't have felt the need to explain yourself if it wasn't. You always do that."

"Since when?" He walked over and leant back against the table casually.

Unable to help it, Parker raised an eyebrow, pointing at him, half-eaten cookie in hand. "Hhh! Then why are you sitting _on_ the table, instead of _at_ it! It's _completely_ your unconsciously trying to be sexy move! I know you!"

Broots snickered and Sydney stood up properly, stepping away from the table.

Sydney merely shook his head at her.

"What?" She narrowed her eyes. "Suddenly, you have nothing to say. Oooo! It must have been real pers'nal, then!"

Broots pushed her in the arm, but she just grinned all the more.

She leant closer to Sydney, an excited gleam in her eyes. "Go on, tell us! What happened?"

Broots coughed loudly, then he kind of choked.

Parker shot him a weird look, noticed his wide eyes, and turned to scowl at whoever had just walked in. "Meh!" She glared at Raines. "Daddy! Any plans for a..." she counted off on her fingers, "fifth little bundle of joy? Make it a boy, this time. We can name him after Lyle. It'll be so _cute_!" She laughed girlishly for a moment, then abruptly dropped the cutesy crap, her eyes hardening in a glare. "If you don't mind, we were talking about Jarod! You're not on Jarod's Ret Team, so kindly," she waved a hand, "scuttle off!"

"My dear-"

She rolled her eyes, a bored look on her face. "Before you thoroughly embarrass yourself, Pa, give me a second to whip out my super smart phone gadgety what's-it-me-bob and press Record." Scowling at him, she pushed her chair back and stood up, stalking over and glaring at him some more. "_What_, Not-Daddy?" She made a sad face. "Yes, they stole your Not-Baby! Get over it. Make another one, you'll get more enjoyment out of it." She snickered at her own joke.

"I dare say I would, Miss Parker, though that's beside the point. If you don't mind, I'd like you to come with me, please."

"To your dungeon?" she asked, recovering from her bout of laughter.

"To my office. I think that should do nicely, to begin with."

Parker widened her eyes, glancing around at Sydney and Broots with a grin. "'To begin with', he says! Oh, you naughty, naughty old man!" She cracked up again, resting a hand on Raines's shoulder. "Lead the way, Pa! I'm all yours!" She went on laughing as they left the room.

Neither Sydney nor Broots looked very pleased.

.

"If you're going to play into your brother's games you're going to get yourself killed. Do you understand, Mel?"

She pulled a face. "Don't know what you're yabbering on about, Billy boy! Games, games. Games are fun! What the Hell games are you talking about, anyway? My bro-ther's not here anymore, you might have noticed – or not – so I can't play games with him." She pouted. "As much as I'd like to because he's so adorable when he's mad at me!"

"For goodness sake's, Mel!"

She poked her tongue out at him. "Are you gonna shoot me, too, Pa? Ooo, wait. Hold that thought!" She took off her jacket and ruffled up her hair, starting on unbuttoning her blouse. "If I'm going to die, at least I can die sex-hay!" She grinned, winking at him cutely.

He grabbed her hands and stilled them. "I'm serious, Melody."

She scowled, not at all pleased he'd called her by that name. "Shut up! You're not my daddy. You don't get to say shit!" She pulled her hands free and resumed unbuttoning her top.

He crossed his arms. "Leave your bloody clothes on, girl! You are not your brother, and you are by no means funny!"

"Uh-myou-zing!" she laughed. "And I think I am. Pa! Do you like my Victoria's Secret. It's kinda hot, huh?"

He uncrossed him arms and grabbed her upper arm.

She glared at him hatefully. He knew she didn't like being grabbed or shaken, the bastard, so why was he suddenly getting grabby? Just to piss her off, she bet. She scowled at him, fuming. "Grabby, grabby! Can't wait your turn, huh?"

"Oh, _stop_! You're making yourself look really stupid!"

"But..." she tilted her head, "I thought you liked the dumb ones? Nowadays, anyway." She pouted, wide eyes boring into his innocently. "Or... am I mistaken, Dad-dy?"

He sighed in resignation. "Mel, I have no interest in you sexually. I wish you'd stop acting this way. Catherine might have... believed me to have... You are _not_ your mother, Melody!" He fixed her with a serious expression. "Hmmm?"

"Uh-ah, Daddy – I'm wearing sexy lingerie! When did Mommy ever do that?"

He smiled suddenly, looking away from her, away over her shoulder, as if remembering something from a memory. "You'd be surprised, my dear. Oh, you would be surprised."

Parker made a sour face. "Like what?"

He returned his gaze to hers. "No, no. I am sworn to secrecy. No can share. You will just have to use your imagination, my dear."

She poked her tongue out at him. "You _so_ wanted my mother! Bad!"

He smiled nicely. "Oh, sure. Sure. Or maybe I wanted a menage a trois with your mom and Edie."

Parker stared at him stupidly, pulling on her hair limply. "Come on, you didn't just say that?"

"Didn't I now? Oh, I think I did."

Parker let go of her hair and balled her hand up into a fist, punching him in the arm. "You're freaking me out!"

"You were freaking me out first, so tough. That's what you get, Little Miss Smart Stuff."

She laughed girlishly. "You never-"

"You don't know what your mother and I got up to together when we were al-"

"Aw!" Parker smacked a hand over her mouth and shivered. "Trust me, Liam, I'd have known. I'd have known. Momma was so totally – grossly – crushing on you. She wanted you – like way, way! And I know she didn't get none 'cause she woulda been so fuckin' happy."

He sighed. "Yep. You're right," he conceded, finally. He laughed.

"Laugh it up, baby boy. You shoulda given it to her. Maybe, if you had, she'd've dropped her lame-ass plan and you – could have had some really hot ass, you stupid dummy thing!"

"Yep, it's my fault. It's always my fault."

"Fuck yeah – it's your fault! You call yourself a womaniser!"

He crossed his arms. "Well... you bought it."

She poked her tongue out at him again. "Because I was a child, William. And so what – I like laughing at you behind your back! It's uh-myou-zing!" She pulled a face. "M-m... Where do you even get words like that, boy?"

"Edie reads romance novels."

She stared at him. "I think you mean Cherice, don't you?" she asked coolly.

"Didn't I say that?"

"You said Edie!" she growled, glaring daggers at him.

"Well, I meant Cherice. You know who I meant. What are you getting so miffed about, anyway?"

"Edie was my friend!" she spat angrily. "And... and you just..." She laughed. "You just replaced her like she was nothing! And she was wonderful! And you never, never deserved her! And you killed her! And... and you...!"

He didn't even try to smile, to sound pleased. "Yes. My fault. I believe I'm starting to see a pattern here. William, you really messed up, old boy." He sighed.

Parker looked away from him sharply, feeling like crying. Why was she being like this, anyway? Acting like such an idiot; wanting to cry? She was such an idiot.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I meant Cherice."

Parker shook her head. "You like her better! You Goddamn like her better! Who is she? Who the fuck is she even?"

"Hey, come on, Mel," Raines interrupted seriously. "She's my wife. She's my wife, okay. I don't want to hear you talking about her like that, saying she isn't worth rubbish, because she's worth something to me. She's worth something to me, and our kids, and I'm not... I'm not going to treat her the way I treated Edie. I swear it! I'll... I'll be better this time. I'll look after her. I'll look after them all." He stepped closer and stated buttoning up her blouse again. "And you're... you're my daughter too, Melody. If you want to be, I won't push you away. It doesn't... It doesn't matter to me that you're not my daughter... biologically. I always... I always liked you. I thought you were... well worth while getting to know. And I still do..."

Parker shook her head, brushing his hands off her top. "I'm stupid," she muttered angrily, staring furiously at nothing. "I'm so stupid! Everything I want fucks up! Everybody I care about _dies_! I am so _stupid_!"

He shook his head, turning her face towards him with a hand on her cheek. "No, you're not. I don't believe that. And neither should you. You're not stupid. Do you want me to help you? All you have to do is say so. You're not... you're not your mom. I won't... I won't hurt you, sweetheart. I promise you that. Hmm? What... what are you going to do?"

She shook her head again. "I hate you. You said you were my friend... but you took them all away! You took them away from me, William! I hate you _so much_!"

"I know, flea, I know. I'm sorry. You have to believe me: I am so, so sorry."

She sniffed, finally meeting his eyes, finally looking into his eyes without fear of anything. "I'd rather die than ask you for anything!" she told him vehemently, her voice just that little bit wobbly. "But I can't... I can't ask the children to die along with me," she spat, her chest heaving. "Fuck you, and I hope you go to Hell, but yeah, you can help. You can help, if it'll make you feel better for all of the evil things you've done, but don't expect me to forgive you – and don't you dare, _dare_ expect me to have your back, you psychopath! Because I will leave you to die like the filth you are, you hear me, William Robert Raines?"

"I do," he replied calmly.

.

"What happened? Miss Parker? Hey, Parker!" Broots ran to catch her up. She picked up her pace and ignored him. He finally caught up to her, a bit breathless, and asked in a much too gentle voice, "Are you okay, Park?"

She froze, spinning around to grab him by the front of his clothes. "Fuck you, Broots!"

"I'm sorry, I'm... I'm taken," he replied, trying to laugh a little at the end.

She glared at him hatefully.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"You hurt me!" she growled in a low, menacing voice.

"I apologise."

"Just leave me the fucking Hell alone, Broots," she hissed.

"Are you going to be okay?"

She laughed, sounding almost hysterical. "Fuck you!" she spat, and let go of his clothes, not even bothering to push him back, away from her. She spun away and stormed off, too mad for words.

He was an asshole, a bastard. A stupid fucking moron! He had kids, two – soon to be three – children, and a beautiful fucking wife who'd _never hurt anyone_, and here he was, plain as fucking day, asking her – _her_ – something like that. He was fucking insane!

She hated him.

And she was pissed at herself for that, because she really sort of liked him, too. He was the stupidest dumb fuck she'd ever met, but he was also sorta sweet, and it wasn't really fair. It wasn't really fair that he would endanger himself for her when she could defend herself and he couldn't, when she had nothing left to lose and he had everything.

And she _hated_ herself for that. For making him care.

It was apparently a skill some people had. Some people, and some monsters.


End file.
